Who were you today,
at your best moments?
Grouchy hermit
already missing quality dream times
and rhythms
when chimes greet pre-light’s crust frosty dawn,
to get Yang, then Yin, up and out of our sangha,
ready to enter their own daytime sanghas,
tired of such anciently perennial retired,
repeat,
reiterate,
Monday through Friday.
Notice
red coal scaly patterns
in blackened ash logs,
burning to fluffy carbon chalk,
nutrient potential for some soils,
although not mine,
perhaps my neighbor’s?
Joy
for a bright, although admittedly too intermittent, sun,
sliding in and out of hiding.
A smile,
where one would otherwise have been sadly absent.
Cold
feeling Arctic on my ears and neck
and nose
and through my nose out toward my aching bone marrow,
yet near my well-heated
and brightly lit
destination.
Ellen Fisher on NPR saying
“No one gets out of love alive.”
with so much enthusiasm and passion
for regenerative feelings and empathic maturing capacity
to manage anger’s ego-offense
with a strong remembering love’s co-opportunity defense
against high risk anthrocentric,
ego-bratty behavior.
Gratitude
for Yin political and economic cooperative opportunities
seeking harmonic balance.
Terror
of untimely rest as grace,
of older-wiser intent
without time to hear Earth’s glamorous response,
to newfound mutually speaking parts
and songs of dancing glances.
Gently eagerly lifting
blue tarp skirt
of my elegantly stacked woodpile,
seducing me with more fuel
for erotic clandestine fires.
Feeling Yang feeding on my third eye spot,
sucking in any embodied nutrients she might hope to find
within such grandfatherly care,
laughing together
at just how silly we appear
even to ourselves,
together.
Still,
yet contenting with this narrow midway
modestly chasing Gods of True Love reborn
long-married to Gods and Godesses of Angry Past Deductions
meet Fear of Future’s Inductive
dualdark function,
confluent dialectical ego-demise
sinking into moonfilled eco-hibernation.
