What can I say?
The rain, the snow
this time of year
will have their sway.
Much needed, but,
in some places, overbleeded,
to form a flood
with tons of mud
which washes homes
and sends some folks
to early graves.
A hard to swallow
plate of food for thought,
but in this cold month,
our inner being
becomes the one
on our
quite most vital hunt,
but not in search of solid food,
but rather,
deeper sustenance,
+++++discerning judgment honoring,
++++++++++of everyone and thing,
++++++++++the basic natures,
+++++dropping
++++++++++much-too-gripped-to-thoughts,
++++++++++explanations, nomenclatures,
++++++++++and build-ups piled twixt us
++++++++++and them,
+++++++++++++++who, wheresoever they may be,
+++++++++++++++are actually, in fact,
+++++++++++++++our neighbors,
We set aside
all that we know,
sit patiently and wait,
allow whatever’s really there
clear to appear,
in full to show,
and to reality
we bend and bow,
to teach us how
we can respect
what’s actually there,
before our eyes,
with which and whom
we share the sun, and stars and moon,
soil, wind, trees,
and fire and water,
all of which twist and turn in space
with their due respect to us,
in so very many a guise.
The days, dark, weary,
full of chill and and damp and wet,
if we’re blessed with ample shelter,
give us time
during which
we can reflect,
and hone a vision
at least an increment more wise,
as we for this precious while
slow ourselves,
pause, close and rest,
grow and refresh
our heart-and-love-connected,
truest-seeing inner eyes.
The Danforth Anchor 