By Ian Lindsay

Lead in darkness.
To see myself in skeletons of leaves.
In the rich green of a pregnant hill,
In Life once born fresh
Returning to the soil.

Entangled roots.
Curls of hair falling into the moment.
Togetherness to separation.
Then return to intimacy
Beyond the spoken word.

Touching the sorrow.
So delicate and quiet.
A prayer of hope
That tears can nourish
The young ones to fill our horizons with wonder

Searching for death.
With buds in hand.
Spades for digging cradles.
We empty graves.
And fill them with our stories of love

Broken wood.
Fallen to Earth.
Days in the sky.
Gone.
Though every tree may grow wings in times to come.

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SanghaSeva | Meditation in Action

SanghaSeva | Meditation in Action

Reflections about our Retreats that Touch the World