this breath

let's say
we've been kind to ourselves
and given
ourselves a few minutes
to
do
nothing

and then we start to get
a little antsy

what to do?

notice the breathing

notice the noticing

notice how we are sitting or standing or lying in
gravity

notice
the noticing

good

Thanksgiving Six: Coming Home to Stillness

Dock leaf, supreme food in the spring, or the false spring of California fall

Life is always
here
as long as "I"
am

and what that "I"
is,
is most easily
felt if I return
to a quiet
awareness of almost anything
in the present

without the words
tagging along

this experience:
ease
aliveness
now
awaring
being

can be called anything

and the
word

is never the experience

and the experience
is always

just right
and just
what it is

So,
thanks various teachers,
experiences,
efforts,
learnings,
realizations

that may
made my life one
where this
coming home

becomes more and more

the center
of
everything

for me

ciao,
happy stillness
or
feasting
or
both:

to you

Chris

the sun before the fog

this poem rests
stomach bully
belly
fully
on a warm lazy
chair

outdoor the chair,
this is a fresh air poem,
it is, it is

the breeze is soft
fog wants to come
waiting
massing
curling up in the hills
or are the mountains
to the west

sun still
plenty
bright shimmer off
leaves
oak
willow,
redwood even

birds call

yeah, yeah, and cars, too
swoosh by
no heaven
here

but close enough
or maybe it is heaven
isn't that in
what we are loving
and allowing

the breeze
the sun
the fog
waiting

later
the gray will come

now:
bright
free
easy
clear

now yes now yes

the day is now
sun gone
night comng
cold

life is
good



the taste of evening
sleep with its
empy spaces
the bed with its warmth
the night
with its touching
and caresses
now
and then
the cold air
and the warm
blankets

the world
of horizontal

good