Zen Girl

Centering into the journey.

Blades of Grass

What strikes one will strike two,

and two into many,

the hands are of one,

the stars are of plenty,

the minutes they turn ’round heaven and hell,

they’re born to die,

they die to tell,

the story of a quiet thrill,

they show and give

we ignore it still,

what we’re given,

what’s already here,

life we’re living,

through pointless fear,

one into many,

what’s lost is found,

the numbers they fell

right to the ground,

all one before space and time,

these two things,

breathed life into mind,

if it’s all cleared out,

if it’s all stilled down

maybe we could see,

we are not bound,

a moment ago will never be,

and the future isn’t what we can see,

another way to go,

we follow a path,

but there are so many,

and fate we do lack,

the sounds they arise

from an empty,

not dark and not light

the nothing is plenty,

I sit and follow,

the sounds as they birth,

they enter the air,

a minds easy turf,

and then back to quiet,

from which they came,

they feel nothing of time,

they know nothing of fame,

the tea spills out,

the space it grows,

make way for the stillness

from which all life flows

room for remembrance,

of what’s always been,

obsession of thoughts,

growing thin,

past days,

past lives,

vivid memories,

come forth,

just to be released,

I rummage through the trash and soot,

the blades of grass under my foot,

each one they wave and say hello,

they sit with me as we both grow,

we live to die and die to live,

we can’t get out,

we can’t forgive,

though we must because it will just go on,

the ripples of a pebble in a pond,

the pond is not a lake,

the lake is not a sea,

but the rivers connect them so easily.

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