Frozen winter day,
Silent in its surrender.
Nothing left to do.
Frozen into a paralysis, neither
Right nor left moving, safer that way.
No branching choice, no “or” nor “either.”
“Primum non nocere” as they say.
Winter sometimes seems like stagnant death,
But’s more like sleep and dreams, this dormancy,
Cacooning branches bare, of leaves bereft,
Awaiting Spring’s renewed transmorphancy.
Day comes once more. A new horizon sun
Breaks radiant beams as croci lift their heads.
So fresh, so bright, so clean and new this one,
As fearless-furled Prometheus now treads.
Silent underneath the many stories
Exists a bass line body’s ears can’t hear.
In spite of all man’s wars and wiles and glories,
“Be still, be still, and know that I am here.”
In this, in that, and in the other thing,
If you could see with artist/mystic eyes,
And know tree truths residing ring to ring,
Then much without would vanish, being lies.
It’s this, it’s that, it’s God, it’s you, it’s me,
Though words and words and words will not reveal
The Suchness of this It-ness’ Primacy.
A thousand variations still conceal.
Surrender now. It’s what you want to do.
With empty hands and open heart you find
Your drained, dry vessel free of residue,
As God comes rushing in to fill your mind.
Nothing. No thing. The empty-fullness reigns.
And Being in Own-Most-Ness now resides.
No goal, no dream, no Midas glitter deigns
To tempt you from where Beingness abides.
Left is nothing more for you to do.
And though you stay, you have already gone,
And walk in peace where others see the fray
“As it was in the beginning” and is now after all.
To understand the seasons is to know
A comfort everlasting that enfolds you.
The time has come to halt the to and fro,
And rest within Love’s womb beneath the snow.
Do not fear the sun in solstice station,
For all is gone of struggle and of strife.
“It is good” is how God judged Creation.
Surrender to the respite ebb in Life.