Growing Home

she drinks the tao from my palms.

I had forgotten to step towards her eons of pain.

I wish to tell her even the buddha suffered tremendously before the lightness of being emancipated his heart.

But she can’t stay around long enough to listen. she can’t stay at all. I should have know she’d slip through my grip, as all things do.  lately it has been in slow motion. watching the scenes of life disappear into thin air. gone. all that was, gone. mothers just as transient as past lovers. 

absolutely, inevitably impermanent are all things. i know this to be true. why then do I chase after the memories of pleasure? 

I see a man in meditation, in reflection of the self , and I am brought to tears. bhakti shines as love without manipulation. love in its purest form. in devotion of what is present.

prayers to love. fully, honestly, deeply. unattached.

I envision you with flowers to your heart, unravelling the lifetimes of grasping. I see your pain and I am not scared. I am here now.

offering non-resistence to our resistence we grow.