Standing like a tree, rooted and reaching at the same time.  Allowing the wind to caress and move me as the spirit does, bending and sometimes trembling.  Leaving seasons behind me with a colorful flair, despite that days sometimes turn brown and brittle, melting into the sidewalk of banality.

Still saplings line the street, forgotten bushes rise up thrilled for air and soil.  Thus I chant through the hours, breathing deep to watch for the very smallest next indicated action to alight on my arm like a surprising ladybug of good luck.

The highest spiritual principle is that there is nothing to do.  “Being” a human intertwined with Gaia’s brilliant body is the ultimate divine delight.