Give up the search for a path
through this thick forest of life;
forsake tamped ground,
spongy bark-dust, packed needles,
and mantras repeated with fingers crossed.
Aspirations become lost after rising
to nest unnoticed in the limbs
of old-growth Doug Fir.
Dance through the maze;
soft shoe across painted lines
that promise an aisle to an altar;
pirouette, spin, twirl, jeté.
Grace of landing matters not;
glory in your footfalls, stumbles,
leaps, and trust; revel in the pulse
of humanity and love.
Wade in wonder through chilly water
whose bottom you cannot see;
balance on rocks slickened
by forces forever rushing;
dabble in placid ponds
rippled only by your own steps,
curious frogs, and occasional breezes;
slosh in surf crashing over toes
that curl into shifting sands;
struggle to stay upright with a smile
against the pull of rip tides.
Forget finding footprints
or leaving a trail.
Being is enough.
About Susan Donnelly
After retiring from decades of teaching adolescents, Susan Donnelly rediscovered herself and writing. She strives to create poems that are like old-fashioned key holes, small openings that reveal larger vistas when one looks into them. She lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and goldendoodle, Emma-Squiggly.
Where do you see a window you can open for a subtle sacrament to slip into your day?
A Sign of Our Times or How the Black Madonna Is Shaking Us Up for the Twenty-First Century
The seed of life is within us all, our dance here is mundane, strange and wonderful.
What if you thought of it as the Jews consider the Sabbath—the most sacred of times?
to fashion universes out of emptiness
A winter solstice 2020 short stream for a Movement Medicine community
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