Walk with me in the Grandmother Light.

It's here, on the edge of morning,

when the world of fierce running-after hasn't stirred awake yet.


Step into the breeze -- its embrace freeing, not constricting.

Take in the sight of the swaying branches.

Make note how the only sounds here

are your footsteps

your breathing

an owl chanting into the spruce wind darkness

a warbler invoking a dawn

that has yet to arrive from over the hillside.


If we allow ourselves time for a slow-down,

for the breath to wash through the body

like a gentle surf moving in and around

the hard rocks inside us


we're brought into close proximity

to the Indwelling Knowing

everyone seems to be yearning for these days.



in between breaths if we're lucky,

we have a true encounter.

Don't turn anything away.

Your fragility.

The things that keep you on edge.

The regrets still running wild inside you.

Your deepest of longings you haven't been willing to admit

because it could also mean you'll never see their fruition.

Memories of happenings

that tumbled you forward with gasps of delight.


When you open to the moving ecology within you

and feel the moment when the current shifts from distress to resolve,

it's a day you won't soon forget.

Veils are drawn back.

Fortresses crumble.

Membranes that separated

your dreaming and waking worlds

fall away.

This is how to meet the morning.

This is how to meet each other.

This is how to start a new day.

(c) 2017 / Pure Land Poetry / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

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