From Here
From here
I can see the morning ferry
pull out from the wharf
trailing its long tail
of noisy seagulls, a churning
wake catching the sunlight
before healing to a calm.
I too would like to be healed,
to feel that quietening
when resistance is laid down
and repair comes with a still.
It would be good to be
at ease with what is,
to be transparent and not impede
the course of light, to trust
and be at one with a drift
towards the unknown.
Not to push against
the turbid swell of an incoming
tide but to remain motionless
within it and ride its lift.
From here
I can see the trees along
the foreshore quiver in the slight
breath of a breeze.
Things happen.
From here I sense
an incomprehensible still
across which the morning moves
in a vast pantomime.
To be still is to let go
of all that is passing.
Note.
This poem is a counterpoint to
the previous poem “Yesterday”
which treats stillness in largely
negative terms. Here the idea
of stillness is seen as a means
to transcendence and a central
attribute of Being.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2024
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