While I sit
High upon the hilltop
Feeling the breeze
Wash over me
Is not proportioned
By the difficulty of obtaining it
But is informed
By the quality of attention I offer it
An anachronism
A paradox
To a Westerner
Like me
I take a breath, breathing in the magical divinity of existence
I remind myself
To love and revere every being
Every living thing as if
Each were a god or bodhisattva
When the unimaginable
Becomes reasonable
Imagination soars
But for lack
Of soil and sod
What food
Could riches grow?
Stale cigarettes
And mildew
Saggy mattress
Flickering lights
Time is always active
Always present
Always changing
Only consciousness
Forgets
Or represses
Time is always moving
Cultures move on
People move on
Pix to Words 