Poem

[Guest guest]

Just now -- in the space that is "Just Now" --

an old gnarled tree arises through the window:

it stands nobly and rests

on the surface of the eye --

the eye that is I AM.

High above visible form,

branches sway in breezes of the mind --

in rhythm with the breathing Heart.

Yet stillness pervades everything:

they seem to move because they don't!

I cannot explain: thought cannot parse this

for thought is not other than "This":

an old rough tree arising in the wind's eye.

There's a squirrel perched there upon a knot of wood --

I don't know what it really is, but this:

it's been there forever, alert and watching

and content in seeing nothing special.

When it seems I move from here to there

I have not moved, but am still Here.

 

 

 

 

Love,

 

Anatta.