Bird Songs

I’ve got two fists

One of them holds patience

The other holds love

Well actually they’re not fists at all

They’re open hands that I hope you’ll hold

I’ve been listening to the birds so much that when I sit in a room full of humans

I find myself letting go of interpretation

Instead, I just listen to their songs

So far I’ve concluded that I think humans and birds say the same things

Just in different ways

“Do you hear me?”

“Do you like my song?”

So I’ve stopped worrying about the words that I say

Now I simply sing

I hear you, and I love your song

Choosing You

When painting walls,

as long as you dampen your brush,

and place it on the wall enough times,

the walls will get painted

One way or another

However,

a good painter is determined by the consciousness behind the brush

I am reminded again and again,

It's not what you do,

but how you do it

A white wall can turn pink in a million different ways

The way that you choose

will determine aesthetics

But, it too, will determine

how you feel

Actions

do not only

determine physical outcomes,

but they also determine mental

And

it had been your consciousness that determined the action

It's a closed loop system

So paint the white walls how you choose,

but know that you are also choosing you

Breathe

As the wind wraps itself

around the branches of a tree

As the branches grow out

asking to be

As the cottonwood

lets down it’s hair

As my achy breaky heart

pumps another pint

As the summer air

makes its way into the lungs of the world

As the world carries on another moment

by a chance the size of a needles tip

As I feel the heartbeat of every cell in the galaxy

say the same exact thing

Breathe

Breathe