Sitting in the early morning light,
Smell of incense floating in the air.
Wooden Buddha smiles in front of me.

As the bell chimes I open my eyes.
Calm and present, I return the smile.

Raindrops race each other
Down the window pane,
I watch in childish wonder
At the trails they leave behind.

Thoughts come back to here,
Mind comes back to now,
As the sudden roll of thunder
Breaks the morning air.

A rainy night,
Old friends’ faces,
Childhood toys,
Loves long lost.

Isn’t it wonderful,
And oh, so very strange,
What memories can lurk
Inside a simple cup of tea?

Strange thoughts go by
Floating thru my head,
Days of rain and shadows
People, places now long gone.

Mind comes back to here,
Thoughts come back to now.
Closing up the flow of memories,
Opened by a cup tea.

– Post From My iPhone

Smoke rises high,
Clear morning light flows in.
Mind returns to now.

This sitting cushion,
Made by hands unknown to me,
Brings the mind back home.

Left, right, left, right.
Step after step,
Step follows step.
Feeling the road.

Breathe in, breathe out.
Be here, be now.
Breathe in, be here.
Breathe out, be now.

Follow the breath.
Follow the mind,
Follow the road.
Just be.

Flow in, flow out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Be here, be now,
Just here, just now.

Attending a celebration of life for a book of erotic poetry in a gallery where I’m surrounded by pieces on child AIDS and the briefness of a life born with the seeds of death.

Aren’t we all in the same situation, celebrating life unaware we are dying from the very instant we are born?

Getting out of bed late on Sundays, even if I woke up early, is one of those small pleasures of life I find hard not getting attatched to.