reaching up

Sometimes

in the late afternoon

I feel the need to coil up on the couch like a comma.

Taking pause,

I pull the spring green throw

up over my cheek

…feeling its soft comfort…

and go inside,

reflecting on life unfolding in and around me

like the fiddleheads of ferns,

reaching up and out of themselves

toward the increasing light.

Tentative, feathery, green.

Growing Fiddlehead Ferns at Home

from the formless

Coiled into fertile darkness,

I wait.

A gentle thrumming

– shaking

                awaking –

tentative roots from the formless, form.

Downward push.

Snaking into a question…?

The answer unfurls upward, breaking the soil, seeking the light.

Opening green, eating sun, flowering, fruiting, feeding –

life arising!

Creeping, crawling, flying –

– walking.

glosa on Rumi excerpt

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.

out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing

beyond doing

we settle into being

knowing all will be well

there is a field. I’ll meet you there

where true meeting occurs

where existence

is connection

when the soul lies down in that grass

it sinks into green into cool

into refreshing

into hope

the world is too full to talk about

the silence is full

and, filled,

we settle, and are.

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