H🐦‍⬛aven

(—) A Wire Branch, Craft, Leaf Total Oak, Breathing One Hundred Pointed Circles Stand My Shaded Poem Great Tree Roots on Roots Our Edges Strict Cradle Arms, Bark A Flowering Pen Dead Wood Wind Planted Us Conscious, Lonely Earth Heart Wild Song Refused Name John 21:25 An Invisible peace Laces up Around A tiny sprout Its climbing The terracotta walls Like a Spanish grapevine I am adding Lemon To a steamy hot fish Thin flames Bleed out into the gills schools of dark Cricket clicker The sound bends it snakes gently beneath the Night Valley traveller Spirits Hold hands along a crown of Ancient grain I’m Still awake pouring red wine and Singing moonlight becomes you (—) The Way is always right. You do not see how. It flows. That is all. There is no place where this is not so. The mind turns away because the Way loves and does not prefer. The current has a shape. The shape is made. Walk the street — the world gathers. Walk the street — the world falls away. What you see is the lesson. Outside the made thing the mind names many forms. The Way is the whole. The whole has no edge. It unfolds without effort. Every act sits inside it. No act steps outside what already is. The sage keeps still only to see. Seeing is the teaching. If they do not know, the Way knows. If they do not look, the Way looks. Who learns from your life? That is left to you.