A Seeming Stillness



We love the movement in a seeming stillness,

the breath in the body of the loved one sleeping,

the highest leaves in the silent wood,

a great migration in the sky above:

the waters of the earth, the blood in the body,

the first, soft, stir in the silence beneath a strident

voice, the internal hands of our mind,

always searching for touch, thoughts seeking other

thoughts, seeking other minds, the great arrival

of form through all our hidden themes.


And this breath, in this body, able,

just for a moment to give and to take,

to ask and be told, to find and be found,

to bless and be blessed, to hold and be held.


We are all a sun-lit moment come from

a long darkness, what moves us always

comes from what is hidden, what seems

to be said so suddenly has lived

in the body for a long, long time.


Our life like a breath, then, a give

and a take, a bridge, a central movement,

between singing a separate self

and learning to be selfless.


Breathe then, as if breathing for the first time,

as if remembering with what difficulty

you came into the world, what strength it took

to make that first impossible in-breath,

into a cry to be heard by the world.


Your essence has always been that first vulnerability

of being found, of being heard and of being seen,

and from the very beginning

the one who has always needed,

and been given, so much invisible help.


This is how you were when you first came

into the world, this is how you are now,

all unawares, in your new body and your new life,

this is the raw vulnerability of your

every day, and this is how you will want to be,

and be remembered, when you leave the world.