Just Another Name

and to think
that all my life
you were my world -
the cosmos
teeming
in a speck of dust,
now packed
into a bag,
a blog,
a book,
a poem;
perhaps 'everything'
is just another name
for 'nothing'
gone wild.

Being

the tireless ocean
rests unto
the breathless sky,
green flags on brown
step daintily
with the dancing wind,
steadfast banks
quietly watch
the rushing river,
clouds of eiderdown
wander through
invisible paths;
a torn heart
slowly learns
the art
of resting
into
life.
Do nothing.
Being.
Here.
Is enough.

Power

the sea is calm
after overnight rain,
black and white sunrise -
where are the colours
of joy and pain
to proclaim?

waves rise, to
get swallowed
by the ocean -
unruffled.

stardust
settles in and
courses through
intricate veins;

distant supernovas
blow their conch
in the silent spaces
between cells;

waves rise again;
only to lose
their colour
and power,
to the reign
within.

when I own
my power,
I can give it away
to rest
in the quiet strength
of having nothing to do.

Simplicity

A simple
white jasmine.
No frills.
No favour.
She leans out
to see

the restless sea
in the distance;
She feels
the burning longing
of the cracked earth;
She hears
her dying friend's wail
closing in on her;
And yet
she can do nothing.
Nothing.
Simplicity
lies in doing nothing.
Nothing
but being oneself.
A colourless rainbow.
An empty canvas.
A fragrance that lingers
in silent spaces of togetherness.
Presence
is enough.
Simply enough.

The Silent Warrior

like the ripe old leaf
awaits her fall,
even as she twirls
with the wind
on a blind date;

like the obscure spider
creates her fragile art -
a labour of love,
as she waits to make
a tryst with destiny;

when you rest
in the peace
of deep knowing
that there is nothing
that you ought to do;

when you find love
in everything you do
and do not do;
a silent warrior is born,
to fight, with love.

An Offering

when you hold water
in your cupped hands,
can you be so still
that you're neither
holding on or letting go?
and in that moment
of frozen thoughts,
when the desire to drink
and the desire to give,
when the fear to hold on
and the fear to let live,
empty into each other,
an offering is made
unto oneself;
there's no longer a need
to give or receive,
to seek or be sought,
only a bliss - to live, love,
and be, naught!