1. at Hawk Nest Retreat.... Nov 2020

I might say I’m back, I could.
You might say, however, I’ve gone away.
Yes, I could say now I live away.
I’m back in what was before… in what is… in what seems beyond…
(beyond the bubble, before petroleum, away from the artificiality)
Back in what always is.

No, I’m not much for pursuing what cordial words we might have to exchange…
Silence has become the more interesting.
In silence comes melding… I listen to the soft resounding… to the subtle enthusiasm of the universe breathing.
O of course I could fill the hours with a chatter narrating the sanskara* that time does bully about us.
No doubt you as well… everything is a story… a story intricate and needing lubrication.
But seldom will you find me holding up such a sky… such an overcast of words pouring down with tales of tribulation.
Better to find me honest with words that well from heart to heart

I’m back.
I’m back to silent actuality.
The sky that holds me now blows my mind with its blue…
The sky that I love is the sky decorated with the condensation we call clouds… fascinatingly.
Nuzzled, I am nestled in this sphere that mothers… hugs.
The actuality of the caress… this caress that massages…
This that massages too these multitudes of trees... these trees upright in this hushed forest...
Massages all to a glory...
Caresses me as I breathe quietly… as I surrender to the actuality that cradles all.
Here… released from the noise of words… released from chattering considerations…
Relieved, opened again in the open… my self has become one more breath among the silence of the everything breathing.

Here you can find me.
Find me… beyond… away in the before.
I am down a path… down an untended path lush with the proliferation of overhanging branches and protruding bushes… down a meander overhung with wild lilacs… lilacs with nests within tangles with birds who in the silence speak of the actuality.

Crow explains, ”Sanskara is the Hindi word I like to think of as the scars life leaves upon us. Unadulterated consciousness is as a clay... a purity… plastic and moldable. Experience presses upon it, leaving impressions…and some so deep. In other words… sanskara are our memories… our binding, defining orientation/memories.”