Sabbath morning spend an hour
not doing, just watching
mountains dance on a cloud.
No longer trying to grasp
what I already am
or drop things I never carried,
how much more energy
I have for gazing!
There is even more
if I don't try to name it.
Better than seeking
is merely beholding
Mount Tahoma,
the breast who gives
our land white streams.
Since we have nothing
to attain, and nothing
to renounce, who can say
whether existence
or non-existence
is our true nature?
We appear, then disappear,
like dripping cedars
in billows of mist.
Photo: Olympic Mountains seen from
my little town on Puget Sound.
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