Archive for the ‘mindfulness’ Category
What if you fell in love with yourself?
What if the sight of you made
your own heart rate rise?
What if you got lost in the
depths of your own eyes?
What if you couldn’t wait to come
home to yourself at night?
Could sit for hours by your own side?
What if alone with you is where
you really longed to be?
To explore the depths
of your own mysteries?
What if I told you that I am you
and you are me?
To fall in love with yourself is to
fall in love with everything.
Posted in love, mindfulness, poetry | Leave a Comment »
And all
April 17, 2019
And all of the chaos
collapses into one
move on the board, one
moment in time,
all the writhing world of trouble,
into one small plot of ground,
one weed to pull,
one seed to plant, one
flower to smell,
one moment in which
to put all of your care
into this one little thing,
because every piece contains
the whole, every move contains
the entire game.
Posted in mindfulness, nature, poetry, zen | Leave a Comment »
As I watched, another
leaf fell free of its
attachments, floated
down, joined the others,
littering the ground.
Fell free of all the
imagined importance
that had filled its green
veins all summer long.
Free to fall in
feather
flight slumber
in autumn
light, unencumbered
by it all.
Posted in mindfulness, nature, poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged: autumn, fall, leaves, mindfulness, nature, nature poem, nature poetry, poem, poems, poetry, seasons, trees | Leave a Comment »
Mara, let’s have some tea.
I know you came to hurt me
with your lies and negativity.
I know you come from within me,
from my fear and insecurity.
I know you just get stronger
if I try to hide or fight or flee.
So come in, Mara, sit with me,
teach me, have some tea.
Posted in mindfulness, poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged: mindfulness, poem, poems, poetry, writing | Leave a Comment »
I heard them laughing outside
the window as I tried to
meditate. I could hear them
but faintly, like a fading
childhood memory. And it
came to me: through empathy
these women could be as much
a part of me as the me
of every faint memory
that I never hesitate
to call my self, and that I
can feel what they feel as much
or more than what I often
consider to be within
the clear boundaries of me.