Simple Watering

In watering the forest of my Being,

I grew to recognize the sound of the Wild.

There was no delicate piano,

No leather-bound drums,

Nor silver flute.

The cicadas played to a rhythm so ancient,

Perfectly distorted for this density.

The birds, in crepuscule,

Were their own conductors,

Each lilting melody an ode

To gratitude.

These obvious sounds took me years

To recognize them as they were.

And once I heard them,

Really heard them,

I could be still enough

To hear the underlying sough,

The whispering of brushing branches.

And after a time that took no time at all…

I could hear myself.

Or, more accurately,

I could not hear myself.

The celestial cadence of the stars.

The silence in between,

That space that held them,

And rooted them in form.

And my forest grew wilder,

The chains of ‘need’ and ‘want’

Dissolved by a river of music so sublime…

My heart wept with freedom,

Letting go of the stories of my youths,

Reclaiming my sovereignty,

Redeeming my innocence with Grace

Now holding on to nothing

But a beam of light —

No! Not holding on to…

SUSTAINED BY! SUSTAINING OF!

This column that sings the sweetest,

My own grand soul song.

And like the roots and branches

Of wild trees and planets unknown,

I grow into no-where.

I grow into beyond no-thing.

I water the embodiment of

Self-Mastery.