Patiently Waiting

  

Here in your garden 

is a patient waiting.

Cool morning air,

caress of golden 

sunlight, and a breath

of mist in-lit with pearl.  

A presence patiently

enveloping the bud

of the peony,

an expectation in stillness,

awaiting the burst, 

the annihilation,

and the Beauty.

Does it happen in 

a moment or a day?

Is it like the burst of

clustered galaxies

over countless eons seen

in an ever-present past?

Why would that even matter

if Beauty is always 

already here?

If it happens, has happened, 

continually waits for itself 

to happen?

And you can't make

it happen, whether in 

a moment or a day,  

because you are simply

the witness, 

the bewildered One 

who, prior to thinking, 

prior to feeling, prior 

to knowing "I Am," 

is perfect stillness,

radiant silence,

love unbudded and unbound, 

patiently waiting

beyond duration,  

enfolding what you

must become?

No the mind can't do 

a damned thing 

 to make it happen, 

despite all its efforts 

to validate the "i" 

as a do-er separate

from the world, 

despite all the useless 

chatter of belief and blame.

And if there is a "path" 

it must be simply this: 

letting go of the chatter,

because the silence

is already here.

What you will become

is already here.

Prior to seeking,

prior to the Way,

you are held, you are

encircled and sphered 

by the sky, the mist, 

the climate of Beauty,

who patiently waits

for you to burst, 

to end, to begin,

to happen.



'Light-Filled Peony' by Marney Ward