Gently Persist

Autumn is here, rain arrived, waited a few days and returned. With the sun tilting lower, shadows are long and the garden stays damp despite warm days.

A squirrel runs, tapping along the fence and down the pear tree, sniffing through the garden beds for stashed nuts, to relocate, eat, steal?

My friend the crow drops down through a beautiful arc onto a pole, we share the space together for a while until he harshly scolds a cat hidden somewhere in the hedge, eventually flying off to family in the maple tree.

A stillness rises from the earth transforming seeing. The leeks become jade palms of paradise, the grass is green love, the cracks and divots in an old concrete patio seem an indefinable, soundless music.

Sit with Nature, no where special, in the yard, a park or looking out the window. Absorb the long slow ancient lessons that awaken the foundation of your being. These aren’t the quick short lessons that ruffle and excite, you grow by shedding and forgetfulness. The language we were all taught can’t place the heart, there’s no better or worse, inner or outer, nothing to hold. It easily looks pointless at first, the teeth of thought have nothing to chew.

But gently persist and love, like the softest breeze embraces you, welcomes you back, shows you the mysterious beauty of life. At least for a moment you can see how all things grow from effortless and infinite intelligence, and in this way you too are endlessly grown.










Thomas Martin

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