A Wiley Thing

Finding sanctuary within and from yourself

Working on presence hard-ly
Practicing earnestly evermore

But these thoughts meandering
Pestering
Demanding

A wiely,
Wiley,
WILEY
Thing
That grips and takes its hold.

All above clouds circle me.
The fog comes in.
A tide takes me.
I’m lost at sea.

Through bogs and swamps I find myself.
In paradise, in desert storms, in way back then.
In someday there.

I free-fall and scatter to the wind.
I can’t be HERE, but I am HERE!
How do I come home from this?

It’s the eye that I then find
And stand within its quiet ring.
Breathing.

And being.

And learning to

be.

And to breathe.

And to

Be.

And breathe.

And

BE.

Free from me
In the eye i see
The storm above that cirlces me
It isnt me
And I not it
In this space there’s clarity
Serenity
And everything that ever
Was
Is
and will ever
Be.
Is here.
Still.