Five Peaces

A cool stream
running over hot feet.

A bird singing
at just the right moment.

The horizon
at the far edge of the ocean.

A land flowing
with milk and honey.

The smell of rain
on parched ground.

Just Wait

Dark minutes can turn
into hours, into days,
even into months,
but at some point,
they always turn
back into light.

What Is Enough?

I can work day and night
and accomplish nothing.

I can sit and listen in silence
and live a lifetime in an hour.

Two sides of the same coin.

A Hard Teacher

Fear is a hard teacher.
First comes the test,
then comes the lesson.

Empty Houses

An empty house is never really empty
if it once sheltered a family.

An empty bowl is never really empty
if it once fed the hungry.

An empty hand is never really empty
if it once helped a stranger.

An empty mind is never really empty
if it once held beauty.

Many Strands

With a paintbrush,
I can paint a landscape.

With a scrub brush,
I can polish a floor smooth.

With a broom,
I can sweep a house clean.

So much can be accomplished
by many strands working together.

Death of a Friend Not Yet Dead

When you cut yourself off from the rest of us
because it is time for you to die and you want
to die in private instead of among us who are
not, it feels unfair of you to secret yourself
away from us. But it is not unfair. You should
be allowed to choose who you want with you
for the roughest part of the ride. Bless you both.

I Am Born Again

I am born again when I realize
I am not who I thought I was.

I am born again when I discover
that everything is connected.

I am born again when I let go
of trying to control my future.

I am born again when I stop
looking for security in my past.

I am born again when I watch
the unfolding Tao before me.

I am born again when I listen
to the voice of wisdom inside me.

I am born again when I recognize
I have no need to be saved.

What I Am Not

Before I can become who I am,
I have to realize what I am not.

Another Tribe

Old Christmas lights hang
from trees in the backyard.

Lightning bugs prick
bright holes in the night air.

We are six or seven sitting
around an outdoor table.

Empty plates. Full bellies.
Long talking in the dark.

This is how tribes are born.

No Questions to Ask

If I am a pianist,
where does the music go
when I have no piano to play?

If I am a gardener,
where do the flowers bloom
when I have no garden to plant?

If I am a teacher,
where do the lessons land
when I have no students to teach?

If I am a mountaineer,
where do the footprints lead
when I have no mountain to climb?

If I am a seeker,
where does the truth hide
when I have no questions to ask?

Season After Season, Year After Year

In the spring, cottonwoods spread
their seed in a snow of white cotton lint.

In the summer, rivers shrink and move
slower in the dry heat of a cloudless day.

In the fall, cattails break apart into seeds
and fly away on the wind like tiny birds.

In the winter, ice forms on shallow ponds
and tempts children to test its surface.

Season after season, year after year,
what was forgotten seems new once again.