Dance With Me

                     

Dance With Me

There I stood, waiting for the express
While pondering ways to renew
my flagging spirit, which struggled to climb
life's mounting challenges, when I saw you, serene,
your hands moving in the air, a kind of dance --
the glorious joy on your face making you rich.

Gazing around, I noticed the world's colors were rich.
In each person I sensed the soul's desire to express, 
to enter into the dance.
I felt that I could summon the energy to renew
and make myself serene
like an arbor trellis with those roses that climb.

To reach far, to stretch toward goals that require I climb --
this makes life worthwhile, and I feel rich.
In these moments, my heart beats serene.
I vibrate with life and tremble to express,
to evolve, to embrace impermanence and thus renew
life's eternal dance.

So, which steps will we choose to dance?
Will it be the hustle, the two-step, the fandango climb?
Or maybe a slow waltz, to allow our breathing to renew
while rhythmically moving to the beat, slow and rich.
Perhaps we will lean in to share a kiss, to express
what tantalizes us as we attempt to appear serene.

We might do this under the silver light of the moon, serene
in the movement of the dance
and the people watching -- their murmurs will express
how desire steeps, distills, intensifies, like the climb
of mercury trapped in a glass tube, the red rich
as blood, like the lungs give oxygen to renew.

And after we untwine ourselves, we turn within to renew
the relationship with the One who never leaves, the serene
companion who understands money does not make one rich;
nor does having it guarantee an invitation to the dance
and that life is often one painful, slogging climb
to an illusory summit that cannot contain all we express.

Form and emptiness express all that is, a serene

invitation to renew your energy and dance with life.

Free from need to delve or climb, rich beyond measure.

-Kathryn Harper  

Ayla Nereo - Take It Slow

 

 

Take it slow, and don’t get in your way
Keep it movin’ at the pace of every weather
Look within, and don’t forget you are surrounded by the wind
As it rushes in your lungs

Oh Honey — you are born of the moon
Precious cave, don’t forget there is unknown inside you
Don’t turn away from yourself by bein’ like somebody else
You are tide crashin’ over and call of the mountains
And your darkest tunnels are where your light come from

So take it slow, what you long for’s on its way
Don’t stop reachin’, taste the sound of every color
Deep within, let your wild be uncaged
Run with the wind and rush into its lungs

Oh Honey — you are born of the moon
Precious cave, don’t forget there is unknown inside you
Don’t turn away from yourself by bein’ like somebody else
You are tide crashin’ over and call of the mountains
And your darkest tunnels are where your light come from
Oh aim for the journey, and grow with the night
Be brave in your loving, keep steady your sight

Oh Honey — you are born of the moon
Precious cave, don’t forget there is unknown inside you
Don’t turn away from yourself
By bein’ like somebody else
Don’t turn away…

Implacably Aloof

"At the start of this quest, I had no way of imagining that long after it was over I would still be struggling to formulate a coherent response to the miseries the canyon inflicted on us, the satisfactions that would later overtake the memories of that misery, or the yearning and splendor that transcended them all. I had no way to fathom the force with which the canyon's austerity, its grandeur, and its radiance -- traits that stand implacably aloof to human hopes and ambitions -- can impart a perspective that will enable you to see yourself as nothing more, and nothing less, than a grain of sand amid the immensity of rock and time and the stars at night."

-Kevin Fedarko, A Walk in the Park: the True Story of a Spectacular Misadventure in the Grand Canyon

When I Go Into the Woods

  

When I Go Into the Woods

When I go to the woods
I bring no books along
preferring instead to read
the primary sources:

the opinion columns of pines
persuasive essays by incense cedars
an array of novels from oak trees.
Quaking aspens are poetry of light
and movement.

There is philosophy in fallen logs.
I study the hieroglyphs of former
wildfires to glean memories
of the Before time.

Even dead trees have purpose
as nurseries for animals and plants;
the rhymes arising from them
are kissed by the wind,
then float away.

-Kathryn Harper