I don’t know who was doing the witnessing –

the lavender plant, or me.

I only know that its divine presence shone forth,

that in its presence I moved closer

to an experience of the sacred.

So, rather than passing it by, I stopped.

I stopped and spoke to it.

Not an audible speech, but a soundless one.

The cathedral whisper one uses

when one recognizes divinity.

I danced with the lavender too,

but not the dance of the body, no,

the motionless dance of the witness,

the acknowledger,

of awareness at rest in itself,

of recognition.



While admiring eastern pines

this morning, I paused

to marvel at my heart

for knowing how to beat.


I watched the red bird prince

briskly hopping

along branches of holly,

eager to claim the berries

of color and liveliness

equal to his own.


He had a tiny snow-cap

atop his head, and behaved

like such a gentleman

that I sensed less betrayal

in the world,

and in myself

a trifle of harmony.


Like a moment spent singing,

the sighting exalted me,

bringing me tidings

of gladness and goodness,

as if he were

a little winged St. Nicholas.


Three Heartbreaks

The tigers kept to the shade, turned away from the onlookers and fascination-creatures on two legs.  They looked out through tiger eyes, thinking tiger thoughts.  Swish went their tails, occasionally, swish.  Primal dignity.

The elephant knew what I was feeling.  Her mind was lucid, comprehending.  With a heart greater and stronger than my own, she understood why I kept looking away, yet accepted her life with a gentle patience that, in itself, elevated the woes of humanity to something transcendent of shimmering grace.

As for the lion, he locked eyes with me.  “Why did you come here today?” he seemed to ask.  “I don’t come to watch you sleep, to watch you clean meat from the bones given you.  Go on now, do what I cannot.  Go back.  Go home.”