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Wind is erasing the hills this morning,
blurring their lines with a white mist of lifted snow, the northern sky an imperturbable blue. The turmoil of air is not its business. I kneel before Quan Yin, her four arms hold a lotus, the braided loop of infinity, and two hands touch in the sign of prayer. I contemplate the suffering in this world and ask for relief. It blows like the wind lifting snow. It sweeps around the earth like a silk veil, this exhale. In and out, breath and wind, darkness and light, living and dying. It goes on with us and without. These bones settle on the cushion, in the body, compressing like the rings of trees, rooted in the neutral, ever changing earth.
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Enjoy these poems and short essays on nature and awakened life.Archives
August 2019
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