Sitting here alone, but not
This sacred place, this field of dreams and memories
Where the wind blows the
Wildflowers in waves and
The sun hides behind
The milky clouds and is
Draped in sweet softness.
Blue shadows slip between the trees, as
Om Namah Shivaya drifts from flower to flower
On the wings of a bee.
The tangled growth at my feet
Holds the whole universe in its breath.
Dozens of varieties of life
Bloom together in perfect harmony.
No temple, church or any place of worship can compare
The spirit reside here, it is not just visiting, it belongs.
Services, Kirtans, and Masses serve to honor, praise and worship.
But this place, this existence of perfection,
Sings its own tune
Its own worship in just being.
The creator exposed in its creation.
The essence of God in the unopened milkweed flowers.
The promise and potential of love
for its own sake.
The truth can be no plainer, no more perfect,
No more beautiful.
I sit in witness and feel the grace in the grass, the life in all there is and the peace of this place.
The peace comes to me and from me, and
So I sit and by witnessing become a part of it all,
All I need to do is sit, just sit and let it be.