Geese are flowing south.
My eyes are hungry for these fall colors,
not satisfied, grazing, feeding.
A hunger, an appetite leans, reaches.
The love you crave,
the presence you long for,
the voice of the One
is right there. Reach out for it.
Not a possessing, but a lending forth,
a receiving, a giving, an embrace.
The trees will pay all their leaves for it,
the river spends itself to come closer.
The hawk lays all of its weight on the air
circling for it.
The vines with their ripened berries
take on their dying colors
to become something new.
Don't starve yourself.
Stop thinking it silly
to yearn for what you yearn for.
Why trudge from town to town,
slouch from bar to bar,
with a newspaper clipping
searching for your lost lover?
(When we don't know we're drunk
we do stupid things.)
The Beloved is here in this room,
closer than your thoughts.
Undress from your mastery.
Take off the uniform of understanding.
Breathe in, breathe out.
That longing, that seeking,
even the sadness
is the Holy One
reaching for you.