Listen

Listen
silence; words unuttered; synapses firing,
the woods breathe,
here I feel,
everything stirs; nothing
  stirs,
wind; needles; boughs; branches,
the crisp evergreen breath,
the whisper of morning light through the pines. 

Here
I
am;
here
all
are. 

My impression, the impression I leave, is not my own
   but the shape of the world removed
   the space bequeathed, allotted,  gifted, for "my" existence.

The mind divided is too loud;
fear of life
being in tumult
noise of "self"

Existence is a subtle breath
  whispering to our nothingness

We need
 only listen

about the first fire

lifetimes ago we sat about the first fire
under most of these same stars
staving off the cold night
with its teeth and eyes and claws
its poetry of inverse light

We cannot prepare to live; we live.

We cannot prepare to live; we live.

Removed, by thought,

from the context of experience

awe and rapture dissolve.

All that exists does so now.

The moment is an eternity

of truth and beauty

if only we are present.

Walk, wander, and wonder

So what if you only want to walk,
wander and wonder all the day long.
Is this not your right; is this not enough?

Must we be busy? Must we be
irreverent toward life? Must we be
arrogant in our living?

So what if you want only to live deep.
Is there a nobler, more humble, more
connected living? Is there a life deserving
of less?