It never ends.
The creaking bones
The sigh of the highway
The semaphore of my avian neighbors
The slow arising and falling away
Of breath
And everything else:
None of it ends --
It only begins.
The mind is subdued
Like a frightened mare,
Slowly and with loving reassurance.
Soon, what arises
Bows to me,
i bow to the arising
And then all is enfolded
In the bow of Being
Toward All That Is.
In this way,
i mark the passage of essence
Through the vestibule of
Being human,
Toward the great hall
Of
Simply
Being.
--Mr. Gobley
