burn scars
absentmindedly scanning the landscape
for rubble and char
catching the thought
…so this didn’t burn…
a thousand miles from fire
the way I think
…where’s her mask?…
watching an old movie
fire’s burned its way into my psyche
like pandemic terror
like checking every black shape here for condor
or every sunny drizzle seeking rainbow
tending to time
already the to-do list
has spilled off the table
and squeezed under the doorjamb
smothering to-be time
I’m making a small circle of now
outlining places to file down
to keep things smooth
life mindlessly carries us along
until we remember
to tend rootlets all around
Cedar at the sit spot
sometimes when I’m sitting quietly
waiting for nothing
he comes
it’s the sweetest sort of communion
Tous neyei3eibeihii*
he says to the tree that shelters us
and we sit together
contemplating the creek
the woods
the snow
and mostly the gift
of another soul
who knows how to be
silent still attentive and grateful
he magnifies my joy
* “Hello, teacher” in Arapaho/Hinóno’éí
letting go of corporate
things to let go:
traffic jams
commuting
smog
the brown cloud
staff meetings
getting splashed with slush by a passing bus
alarm clocks
business casual
casual Friday
high heels
happy hour
time sheets
parties you don’t want to be at
social obligations
close talkers
meet-n-greets
networking
looking at your watch
worrying about the meter
parking in the garage with the tight spots
getting out of jams at work
the paper circles falling out of the 3-hole punch
ice breakers
appetizers
hors d’oeuvres
the confusion involved in spelling hors d’oeuvres
ties
filing
annual reports
board meetings
staying awake at conference tables
small talk
performance reviews
hiring interviews
the smell of the office refrigerator
caffeinating to make it through the day
shredding paper
voicemails
choosing between the elevator and the stairs
getting home after dark
leaning your head against the bus window
(ok, maybe keep that last one –
a bit of meditative time
when the world unrolls before you
and you’re suspended between your two lives
having surrendered the driver’s seat for a spell)
The Good News (inspired by Thich Nhat Hanh)
Moon Creek will sing
whether we’re on the earth
or under it
the blue sky
will get bluer
without contrails
the twisted path that brought us here
today lets me make friendship offerings
to birds and foxes
whose bright beating hearts remind me
we’re not alone
my mother, planning for her death
in a place where I can’t hold her hand
smiles bravely, assures my sister and me
she’s lived her life of service
without regret
now there is so little left
in the way of importance
I sit on the side of the creek
while the snowy banks run to water
doing nothing
only being
only listening
when a mountain chickadee
who has heard nothing of the end of days
flits to a flat rock in the channel
then wades in
delightedly splashing clean cold water
all over her plump fluffed self
it takes a long time
for her to stop savoring the sensation
she jumps from one branch to the next
shaking all her feathers loose
bustling with the busy joy
of water sun and wind
and I am still here to see her
and you are still here to tell
memory/reboot/presence
every day
I walk around
trying to remember
to hit save
but sometimes
I feel
the green grass
just wants me
to press against it
mindlessly
mindful silence
in the deep dark of the glowworm cavern
there’s no chatter, no photos
(our guide warned)
and we are immersed/transfixed
by black water rushing below us
while above constellations of electric blue blips
are scattered at random like so many stars
all we can do is suck in our breath
and look
later a woman asks
Why did we need to be quiet?
So we could all enjoy it
our guide says without apology
without hearing where
you’re going to dinner
not hearing the sea
after only four days
the waves have receded
the sound only registers
when I train my attention
on the pleasing steady unevenness
they’ve kept up below
ever since we arrived
so soon we become
senseless of wonder
even when it whispers
in our ears all day
charm
by the gas station
incense changes my mood
the little red shrine has been visited
and offerings made
candles flicker and a thin trail of smoke
from the glowing sticks
matches a flow of good will and energy
flames give movement, life
to the unnamed warrior guarding
this otherwise nondescript
strip mall
slaying inattentiveness
