Sometimes I feel like writing poetry.  Sometimes I feel like sludge.  So, am I blind to the brilliance on some days, or just sitting in the fallow of the wave’s wake.  When nothing is happening, something is gaining power to rise up and crash over the day, week, year, my life to pound the rocks of me into powdered sand.

They say if I keep my eye on the Tao, I will see beyond is and is not.  But is seeing “beyond” not being in the present?  If the here and now is puzzling, hurtful or down-right boring, and I go to the Oneness within and throughout the “now”, am I avoiding the true human moment of sitting?  No where to go, nothing to do.  Just dull wonder.

Well, it’s not as fun as being a bird sitting on Her shoulders, blue, tiny, gentle chirpping with the deep and delightful honor of being so close to Her smile.