Sunday, May 21, 2006


It's 3 a.m., summer,
I put on pink sweats,
jeans over sweats, socks over socks,
shirt over shirt over shirt,
a winter coat and a wool hat
I bite into a Granny apple
and get in the car.

The Committee is meeting in my mind.
What if there is a crowd out there?
What if I'm not needed?
What if I look like a fool?
Did I bring enough stuff?

I get there, park, and in the yard,
Lillian is murmuring something
about two hours sleep.
The Committee is satisfied.
I am needed.

I sit in a blanket,
I watch the fire.
I picture the faces of the three people on the hill doing
a vision quest.

I go from facing north to facing east, looking for the sun.
A mockingbird drops to the ground then back to the top of the tree.

More birds join the chorus.
The sun shows itself first on the tree trunks,
on leaves and then
the red ball itself peaks through it all.

The sounds of a tent being unzipped
brings Fred to the fire.
He tells stories .

Everyone gets together at the end.
I am given tobacco wrapped in cloth.

It's now 2003, a year later.
Early in the morning, I'm up,
not sure what the fire watch will look like this year.
The person on the hill has decided I'm not to be there.

The spiritual path does not have to be
good, sane, passive
and compassionate.


Working with the Emotions, Myth of Freedom,
Chogyam Trungpa.

Resting in the river.


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