Buddha Sits

                          Sitting on our porch, sacred sanctuary, 

              Buddha sits

               under the birch tree, sedum blooming at his side

               solid rock surroundings.

                           Breakfast eaten, green tea sipped, water bottle emptied.

                           I sit, 

                           wondering about words from 

                            pen to paper scribbled

  A sacred journey continuing, chosen 

  work, to be, 

  with Buddha, Jesus, Allah, Krishna, Mother...

          Contemplative, reflective, aware of breath, of

          sound, grateful for butterfly, hummingbird, ripening tomatoes, 

          My home built many years before ( over 100 I am told) 

          a sure foundation holds it still.

                             Holds me, the sacred stories time unfolds, within, around

                             

Silence

          Silence

          a treasure to being, so often filled, 

          by questioned uncertainty, shoulded messages.

                              I sit

                              pen in hand, two pink roses call me, 

                              rain specked, bending in the breeze, being, just being

                              roses.

                              

                              Being just being, a writer, sitting pen in hand, 

                              words emerge, sometimes, surprising me, life's invitation

      

Gentle breezes blow. 

gkn, sept. 2015