May 27, 2012
I watched a hawk for a long time today, and noticed that I never saw a flap of her wings. There was no effort, just the total freedom of being in harmony with the present moment. And in that letting go, the hawk soared higher and further away, until my eyes could no longer follow. So I offer this poem:
Tubac
Effortless
is how I wish to be
like the hawk, black against blue
jade cactus below
and brown desert hills rise
just on the horizon
wings open
embracing
turning
with draft and drift
in the moment before hunt and hunger
simply being
the floating
between earth and sky
existing
in the nuance of now
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