Who am I?

Last night
Lying curled up
Quiet in the dark
cocoon of my
sleeping bag
I heard the owl’s call
somewhere outside my window
in the trees.

Whooo whoo
What is its meaning?
To me? With this confusion?
Then I realized.
Are you reaching out to the sound?
Or is it just there?
What is the meaning?
For me?
The owl’s calling–oh, reaching out to
an object
outside of me.
The owl’s call–oh, wait, is me
Arrow piercing the veil
There is nothing more
to know.

This practice has mostly
searching for the
meaning of
the owl’s call
How foolish
A single thought
sweeps me into
a forgotten land, a forgotten life,
a dream, a mirage, complete
hollowness, a solitary tower of
I am lost. Lost.
For how long has
my practice been lost
this way? How long
have I been

A single realization,
I want to know who I am. . .
intimate, profound, ordinary, warted.
Not turn away from the
most precious,
mysterious subject of
my practicing.

Lost, not lost, loses its meaning,
becomes a jewel,
precious and holy with this

This morning
I stepped outside and walked
just for me
and nothing else
Step. Step. Foot. Foot. Precious.
The world that is
always alive
awakened in me
Robust, diverse, full,
so many voices, sounds,
all happening, happening
The bright green sedum
soft under my feet
Clouds whisping
Mt. Baker’s jutting rocks

horse chestnut tree
tender, young, wrapped in
white piping
Her love
my love
perfuming my heart
alive together
A woman I never knew
How is this?

I want to know me
The veil–
I pull it across
my field of vision
as I look to the horizon
but something deeper
pierces through
and I slip, stumble, lose my breath,
cannot see clearly
May I rest here.
Right here in the midst of
boundless me.
Boundless mystery.
Knowing nothing, nothing,
yet held
within the energy of a
deep longing.
The longing of a
universe wanting to know
“Who am I?”

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