Those mornings in winter
When the mist of Tule fog covers the Sacramento Valley.
The early hours that pass like words between friends.
The harvest is done.
Empty fields shrouded with the mist.
It was more than forty years ago. So cold.
The old rotten shed was fully engulfed in flame;
I had pulled off some old boards for a small fire
To keep from freezing. Sparks
From a stout north wind did the rest,
And me just standing there in the snow
As the sirens got louder and closer.
Taking care of body, mind, soul, taking care of ourselves and each other emotionally and physically, repairing the world, earning a living—it’s endless. ... But to brightly begin, and then, having begun, to continue: that’s the great thing.
Nothing we see or hear is perfect. But right there in the imperfection is perfect reality.
May I remember to be thankful for all that is already here, around me, with me; the beauty of existence.
Mindfulness gives you time. Time gives you choices. Choices, skillfully made, lead to freedom.
Joy Harjo: A Poem To Get Rid Of Fear