Walking this way, towards that point, ahead
of us in time and space,
wanting to be “there” – a state of grace,
Never good enough, never good,
not yet there, quite, nearly,
Oops, it’s gone again.
Can you hear the wind whisper?
as it touches lips and blows through cells?
If you were Buddha now,
the wind would grieve
the water dull, unflavoured
and the earth would miss
the clumsiness
of your weathered shoes.
If you were “there” now,
All holy and undeterred,
you would not be here –
spectacular and human,
glittering with the bruises
and open wounds
of all that is alive.
How could we lose
this imperfect mother,
this busy mind,
this warm and sacred
moment of all you were,
all you ever will be
and all you are?
Completely pure,
in a grey light of dawn,
a pristine moment
kissing time and still,
it caresses space,
gloriously imperfect
an explosion of beauty,
always here, now,
unceasingly becoming
an endless spiral of love.
