Again I sit. Breathing deeply.

The spaciousness within each atom
mirrors the topography of mind.
Thoughts dance like patterns
of rainbow color,
bold against the greater silence;
another breath, and
the pattern opens up;
another breath, and the pattern
becomes translucent.

Like ants, the thinking pattern
refuses to be stopped.
Like an ant, each thought
seems busy and vulnerable.
They cover the contours of my mind,
yet they cannot conceal
the Presence shining through.

What about this Presence?
What jewel may I discover today,
while in your sacred landscape?
You call me, and yet now you hide.
I look for you, and I find the silence.

Earthy, womblike silence —
I sense that a seed
has been planted here.
A wild thing shall grow,
vast, untamed, powerful.
Here a wild thing shall grow,
and it is called my soul.

September 1996