No Half Measures
Weather wise, there seems to be little half-measure around the word — burning days down-under and blizzards in Seattle. At Sakin’el winder seems reluctant to arrive, and tulips are beging to show — but we know that it will snow. These mountains do not need the snow-pack for survival like my NEvada home, as it rains all year long, in moderation. Yet many need the snow, or at least the cycling of mist …
There is much of sameness between us human types
and today’s swirling blessing of thought mindless snow.
Each hexoid puff of rain ensnared in icy clutch
contains a speck of dust within its chrystal heart;
as even I am made of dust in less pure form.
These flakes of joyful winter dance are each unique.
Yet so profoundly simple in basic limits
of spirit and call to turn and shape the Light.
Would that I could now find such divine innocence,
and cycle anew from tinkling stream of birthing,
to dreaming mist and laughing clouds of morning.
Oh, then to be drawn to the soul of Mother Earth.
Choose – it is your life and song of vict’ry to sing.
Plunging, frantic deluge to nurture new Spring life,
or silver fairie stars of tumbling snow bound hope
that will melt and finger through stones and sandy ridge
in a cent’ry long quest to live as one with Her?