potential

in the field of inquiry came a question so profound,
the trees collectively grew their roots deeper,
knowing what can come from such curiosity.
there will be no delusions or boulders to move
but a deep, deep knowing that the meadow is clear
and ripe for the spring to bud into being.

maybe the being is the part we have forgotten.
nature does not control, force or bargain,
it is in a way that only is-ness can be.
allowing, surrendering, sensitive to the pulse of life
preparing for her holy climax.

the once frozen land has softened to the tune of
sun-warmed winds and full red moons
eclipsed by entire planets, revealing they have aligned.
telling us, it’s time
she’s ready and willing.

holding steady to allow the heave of what once
bloomed and decayed into what is yet to be known.
not yet. not yet. not yet.
makes less sense the more you hold it.
so we let go. let go. let go and let God.

let the meadow show us, as the days get longer
that there is nothing for us to do but allow the space
to hold the needs of the labyrinth we cannot see or control.
to trust the process.
to listen
to be curious.
to be honest
to be patient and loving
to disclose and consent.

for when the conditions are just so
the buds will make their way into the light,
prepared to bloom when the mother offers her blessing.
a moment too soon and the atmosphere could shift just so
that the bud may never become the bloom it was born to be.

the tender buds attune to the cycles
awaiting alignment with graceful awareness.
and one day, when the milieu is ripe with ancestral winds
and the ground is soft enough to absorb the mud
and the fire within has been drummed to its peak,
shall the buds become the glory
which the roots laboured to nourish
resilient and wise to a deep, deep knowing
that its purpose is beauty and regeneration of life.

the possibility of our own budding bloom
drifts in and out of consciousness,
the airwaves buzzing with doubtful static
the mind racing, facing unknown constellations.
and as if the hurt of holding back
were powerful enough to give it all up
a loving silence comes into focus.
a quiet so loud, voices emerge from within
and thoughts fall away as if they were never there
and stories are forgotten like amnesia visits dreams
and grief becomes gratitude
and rest remembers pleasure
and the breath breathes
and space is made
for the potential that was planted
when the soul chose
you.