Breathing Towards Birth

Wind,
strong wind,
tell me,

are you
my true nature? –

heart dispersing
like pollen
on the breeze

and every thought
a flutter,
leaves at evening

even my body
this earthen animal thing
bending
unbending
to the currents

as here

invisible
becomes
visible

swelling up,
lungs a balloon,
full bull frog throat,

I am swollen with spirit
and feel as though I might explode

and in the same

moment
of fullness,
tension,
expansion,

the exhale arrives,
emptiness,
space,
a void unfurled.

I am not …
yet I am.

I cannot express
the fullness
of this being-ness
this such-ness.

Impregnated
by presence,
I am a dandelion gone to seed,

each breath
a step
towards birth.

Wind,

strong wind,
tell me,

when my last breath
rejoins
you,

will I finally
be
born?

 
 

Rock Meditation

mountain tops piled with stones in ancient Dartmoor

Lying on the ground,
back curled up to soil,
dead wood, leaves, winter’s dreams.

I rest like snow,
a rock lodged deep,
inert, still, silent yet
full of presence.

I wait here on the ground,
not for anything or anyone
but
for waiting itself,
knowing nothing but

this.

No need for questions
     -- not on the ground.
No need for beliefs
or reasons why, how or where
because I am

simply

lying

on the ground

resting on earth
a billion years in the making of
now.

That is enough
      more than enough
assurance for me here
in this moment,
lying on the ground.