Rain Contemplation

Written by: linda milgate

The grayness, the rain tapping all around tapping, gently, the repetition of the rain
the grayness, all the same, the tapping. A zen monk would smile as he washed
the pots and pans, amidst the grayness  the gentle tapping. He would pat the dog 
lying sleepy and dry on the ground. He would meditate and breathe in
the cool moist clean air. And he would smile again.  The american in me feels 
 restless and empty.  Unable to pull up the boundless youthful energy I no longer
have and dash out into this day of rain overflowing with ideas and hopes 
fearless. Change meant moving forward, upward, onward. The energy 
boundless joy, the accomplishments to obtain   accomplish   form   produce  create.
Just as a simple zen monk, smiling as the kitchen gardens are nourished by the
tapping rains, I need to feel at home in a small world again. We all do I think.
The earth, she might survive then, replies the tapping rain.  
She needs to rest   the body   the pain  the breath 
She needs to rest.  
We might all survive then repeats the tapping rain.
And I need to rest, the pain pleads with me to accept rest.
If we all could accept this something less, undefined emptiness 
The earth, she might manage to survive then.