Our words are like ribbons blowing in the wind.

Quietly, they appear on the page,

written and then disappearing from mind's thought.

Oh, but that magic moment when the reader

reads and says Oh! 

Noticed, the words are happy,

grateful to be understood

grateful to be alive.

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All these bodies of pain

walking around the planet,

seeking, begging for relief.

Does all creation inherently move towards its own destruction?

Do even the skies now carry our crazy weapons of annihilation?

Unanswered questions twirl,

but only I control my internal narrative.

I can tell a different story--

beings of love,

wrapped in bodies of confusion.

Let go of the ...

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I want to be sturdy

like that tree

with the fat trunk,

I want my legs to be like that.

I want to be steady

like those leaves

that blow in the wind

but stay rooted to the branch,

I want my arms to be like that.

I want to be free 

in my heart,

unburdened,

like those clouds that drift by

so puffy white,

I want my breath to be like that.

I want to smile

...

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Turn the page of each day

as if you are savoring a wonderful book.

Don't try to rush to the end

or skip paragraphs--

you will miss so much!

Hold the precious book of your life

in your hands with reverence,

turn the pages slowly and with patience,

let the story unfold

as it unfolds.

You are both the author and the reader,

read with joy!

Let the story write itself...

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Inner peace is like

tending a garden.

Left unattended,

weeds dance with the crops,

lovingly tended every day,

the edible plants enjoy the full terrain.

Tend to peace every day,

with the breath,

releasing what is ready to go,

inviting in the light. 

Inner peace is a flower

that grows tall and brilliant,

providing strength, solace, and serenity.

Daily, lovingly...

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Oh the lovely messes of things,

oh the lovely chaos of things,

we arrange things in neat rows

until the wind arrives 

and jumbles them up, 

then we walk gingerly through the mess and chaos,

an obstacle course of uncertainty under our feet,

but still we smile as we sigh

at the lovely messes of things,

the lovely chaos of things,

life.

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