Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser
How many times must a soul vanish into the dark abyss
before it can be known by the body that has been conveying
it across holy ground?
Maybe, at some point, I’ll be able
to tell you.
Any heart that has dared be present in this world knows despair.
Despair is what frees us from our attachments to illusion,
what takes us back to that place where the three worlds touch.
Despair whispers, “Now, go forward. Follow this path.”
But, you have to love yourself enough
to be able to hear these words.
I’ve been watching how the ravens fly in tandem
over the hazy blue ridgelines,
and how mushrooms emerge after rains
with little clots of red clay
settled on their heads; evidence that their soft bodies
broke through something hard. And, I’ve also noticed how
the little native bees with metallic green bodies share
in my love of bold flowers.
It is so easy to find the sacred; simply
in the mythos of the profane.
This drab-brown field cricket, ambling her short life
through a maze of dead leaves and dying grasses,
is the next being I shall choose to worship.
©2014-2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Coming Home: Learning to Actively Love this World"
Published by Talking Waters Press
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