Wednesday, 31 May 2017

Water Rocks and Trees by James Scott Smith

Sky Pilot

I am descending now.
My bliss: being one creature,
a single occupant of time and place.

I have prayers, most unspoken,
a swirling drift of wind and stream of mind.
When I bend into spirit fears,
I learn my way to beauty,
loving the science of mystery.

I am of the perennial
though I know not how.
Observing creation as of it,
not above it,
I am an embodied genome
unraveling into the imagined mass of yonder.
Death is birth awaiting.
Wildflowers have taught me such things.

James Scott Smith

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