Stillness

In the quiet,

Scattered thoughts will run

Everywhere...

Until the breath brings one,

To stand still

For long enough to know

It has permission

To take root; to grow...

In tilled earth rich and dark. 

The scent...

Of silent rain 

As clouds consent

To nourish the sacred seed of muse;
A gift only the obtuse refuse

To provide with presence;

An attentive light.

May eyes bear witness

To such a sight.

The Door

The mind imagines the temple.

The breath lets others know.

The hand collects the earth, 

To create above, below.

To see the ancient pattern, 

Is to participate in its flow.

When Heaven and Earth align, 

Truth will make it so.

To behold the living structure,

Is to feel the Spirit soar.

There is more to you than flesh.

Humility opens the door.