When Life is Slow and Full of Leisure

The sleep in my eyes slides away as the assam passes my lips.

A rose petal dawn softly greets the naked branches scratching the sky.  The air is chilled.

Love lies slumbering wrapped in down.  How peaceful.  How beautiful.

Basho is here this morning:

          God of this mountain
          May you be kind enough
          To show me your face
          Among the dawning blossoms?

And,

          Still alive I am
          At the end of a long dream
          On my journey
          Fall of an autumn day

Another sip of tea warms me.  Last night’s fire still provides heat.

The sky light is melting to yellow-gold.  Its deepest hues are centered over the ridge across from us.  A downy woodpecker hammers a tree above me.

A small stream winds below the hillside.  Out of view, the soothing sound of water washing over rocks serves as background music.

Wang Wei has found his way here as well:

          Tranquility has brought me happiness
          life is slow and full of leisure

          Why worry deeply about return
          when body and world are like empty void?

A patch of moss carpets the forest floor.  Moist and spongey, it springs back when pressed on.

The golden hue is concentrated and is intensifying.  Silhouette is being defined over on the ridgetop;  trees stand black as night.

The tip-top of the corona appears.  A shaft of light reaches me.

The life-giving sphere continues to effortlessly lift itself into the heavens.  More beams spread out over the earth.

Rising still.  Still more beams.

Warmth is simultaneous.  The chilled air is ebbing.

My eyes are closed;  their lids are pink.  A smile has found its way to my face.

The disc bottom has cleared the ridgeline.  The sky is blue-ing.  The woods are alight.  Autumn morning is upon us.

Looking back at love wrapped in down, I exult in our existence.

 

(written 30 November 2003)