Rain

When the rains came

she held her spear upright,

flooded the desert plain

and scattered the birds

scratching across the sky,

bleeding light

into the darkness of land.

When the rains came

she lay down in the mud

and drank in the light.

When the rains came

she suddenly realized

how thirsty she’d been.

When suffering comes our way, we often respond with a fight, for we see only despair even in the light.  Eventually, if we are wise, we learn to surrender to its message, lying down in the mud and drinking in whatever it has to give us.  Finally, one day, we look back on our suffering and see how we have transformed–indeed how we might even be mildly grateful for the suffering because we swim a deeper more meaningful river now.    

© Andrea Mathews 2015

Heavy Downpour

Forest

Wind shapes
cathedral shadows
lisping into openness
from the edge of a mound,
grasses whisper
and repeat themselves,
sensing when leaves, branches,
fruits fall.
Can I move in the evenness
of this sense
without disturbing my right hand?
Are the edges drawn with pencil
and ink, thin lines of reason,
or pauses in the rhythm;
will I find my own time,
cast my own sacred shadow,
bend my own limbs,
drop what I own
into the sound of earth
going round?

Nature has this way of being natural, that we lack. We have worked hard at complying with all that makes us unnatural.  In fact, we fear the nature in us, for we believe it is also savage.  But actually it is organic authenticity.  How do we find that rhythm, that organic sincerity that just does what it does because it is in it to do? 

© Andrea Mathews, 2015  

Photo by weiweihua on Diviant Art

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