page 11

oh how foolish i must have looked
on the bus the other day;

gazing at the same scenery
as if i was understanding what it means to gaze.

we drive past the same stops, on the same streets,
by the same stores and restaurants, past the same trees.

only today, i am anew.
stopped at a red light, i am stopped myself.

there is a tree on a corner,
one i have seen many times before.

but the season of Fall is here, holding us
in her chilled embrace.

i see the leaves, their colors, and Aha!
a sharp knowing pinches me on the forehead.
Fall is trying to tell me something:

Watch the leaves on my tree-children.
Watch them obey and surrender to the faith-fire of the sun.

All summer they grow out into unknowing,
insecurity, blankness, openness, whatever they think it is
but they remain attached to a fearful but nurturing source.

My grandchildren, who let the sun burn them into red, yellow,
orange, and brown shades of commitment  eventually find surrender.

When they fall, they rise. Their new-born souls 
add a lesser degree to the air around you.

Bare trees are proud parents. And I, the prouder grandparent.

Burn, surrender, fall, rise, chill your soul, and watch it
fall again in a crystallized state.

A snowflake of inner revolution.

:::

there is a rich person who approaches me.

come sit with me, i say.

"Ok," says the rich person.

sit with me for three days and observe.

"Ok."

on day 1:

there is religious talk and spiritual inquiries

bantered back and forth freely
under fluorescent lights on a rainy day.

the rain itself whispers through the window,
"Keep deepening. I'll keep you longer."

on day 2:

there is a magic in comedic tragedy

that brings a pepper to its appropriate spice

in the grave of our past difficult experiences;

more succulent sweetness to an apple orchard 

if both parties pick apples together.

on day 3:

there is an unbinding innocence
which sprouts from within

when Father Time excuses Himself from the table

and two children run from their vegetables

to watch their favorite nighttime television show.

on the morning of day 4:

the rich person admits, "I feel quite enriched."

i ask, why?

"Well because I saw the money exchanged
with you and your friends."

what money is that?

"It's presence."

you learn well, but that is not what makes me rich.

"What then is it?"

the crown of gratitude on top of my head.

With this crown, i feel as those i am the most rich person of all.

"I understand. With my richness, I intend
to enrich paperless things in others,

so that I may feel as rich as you someday."

:::

two small truths always show themselves.

they both move, and they both stay quiet.

speechless, always.

they follow a greater truth, always.

forget the mounds of soot within and on top of them.

it is a weak covering.

within love, our little eyes

and our two crease-covered hands never lie.

they, unspoken, speak the truth.

move the truth, spot the truth,

hold the truth, push the truth,

see the truth, explain the truth.

why are there two ways to tell the truth?

if the one is closed, the other is moving, pointing, holding.

if the other is lying still on a table,

the one is looking, staring, gazing.

lie as much as you want in your words and tone of voice,

but you will be caught with one or two

of the small truths, always.