Strokes of ink on an empty white

A Cup of Tea

Can you taste the universe in a cup of tea?
Dance in rain as drops fall from the sky,
Nourishing the Earth,
Cleansing the soul,
The water slips down from mountain to stream,
Flowing directly to the cup of tea.

The drink of enlightenment,
Tastes so pure.
Sipped by Buddhist monks in ancient China
To sustain lasting periods of Vipassana
To clear the mind,
To discover the way things inter-be.

When the cup is empty,
It is full.


The Nature of a Poem

If poetry is the language of the heart.
Then Nature is the poetry of the soul.
The essence of which we have manifested.

Man.
Woman.
Manzanita.
Sparrow.

Strokes of ink on an empty white.
Alone they are incomplete.
Combined with others,
They become whole.
Sentences form,
Images are born.
Webs spun,
Relationships woven.
Deeply interconnected.
Magic reveals,
A poem is born.

Nature is the poetry of the soul.
Can you read?


Baby Blue

Six weeks of walking along the Pacific,
Highway 1 cuts inland to Legget.
Time to say goodbye to good ol’ Baby Blue,
For a while.

Sitting down with her one last time.
Breathing in the cool ocean air,
I am refreshed.

Reflecting on the time we have shared.
She has taught me what it means to be free,
To live and just be.

Her waves crashing, pounding rocks and shore.
Shaping, chiseling, refining the coast.
A sculptor, creating the line.
Eternally dancing, playing, changing, molding, breaking,
and changing some more.
Always changing.
Volatile yet still.
This massive body of water,
This ancient teacher.
I am blessed.

Searching to find where the vision ends,
Where the sky begins,
My heart is lost in the abyss between.

A mysterious, unknown world,
Exists underneath it’s surface.
Above it,
I stand alone.