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.