Corn planted, grown, harvested, dried, soaked, crushed, sculpted, flattened, cooked, eaten, digested.

Cotton plucked, spun, dyed, woven, used, frayed.

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Here, now, presence, nostalgia, memories, dreams. Felt, forgotten, faded.

Blooming flowers, wilting flowers, drying flowers.

 

Relentless unfolding motion.

 

Time too fast to catch or to stop, time too slow to notice it is moving. Impossible to learn our future, and the past, like a dream, slowly we forget.

 

Eternal heaven, eternal damnation, purity, perfection, fantasy, dogma, religion, shame.

Resisting the nature of reality, everything is in motion.

It all grows, changes, births and dies upon the earth.

Beliefs, cultures, rocks, planets, suns, nothing stays the same for eternity.

 

Forever young, vanity, dissatisfaction, infidelity, don’t age and prolong your wilting, avoiding death, ignoring life.

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Judged, confined, chained to what you’ve done, not who YOU are becoming, learning and remembering.

 

Addictions, drinking, buying, eating, escaping, disconnecting, chasing the first high, reliving a feeling, reenacting the past.

Never fulfilling, never quenching, it will never be the same.

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Accept, surrender, forgive, move.

 

Trauma, baggage, resent, anger, emotional storage, outbursts, holding the I would haves, I should have, i could have, but you did not and it was not. Let it go, let it be as it is.

 

Romance, falling in love a thousand times with one person, growing, choosing, aging, wilting upon the earth together.

 

Is my love only for the flower when it blooms colour, beauty, fragrance?

Can I love her as seed, mystery, potential, in her growing stems, in her drying petals, in her fading scent?

 

When do we cease to appreciate life within each moment and the spaces in between them?

Is it as soon as the flowers wilt and no longer smell beautiful?

When life becomes uncomfortable, dark, painful, sad, overwhelming?

 

Feel everything, each moment is a crease in the unfolding of the paths, the unraveling of the universe, the motion process of your own great flowering.

 

Thoughts, feelings, rushing streams that can’t be caught, but directed.

With our bows and arrows, we shoot words that are but shadows of feelings.

Attempts to explain experiences.

Failing to do them justice, for nothing can truly be caught still or it dies.

 

With prayers, poems, flowers, songs, we move our hearts towards life giver, hoping, healing, purifying, thanking, living.

 

Yes, you are alive, what a gift to listen, feel, touch, taste and smell every thread of your grand weaving.

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Cry, smile, hurt, love, learn, forget, forgive. Trust, have faith.

Whatever is happening will soon pass, turn, be tilled, mulched, composted, showered, returned and reborn as a flower.

 

Let it go, it is what it is, just let it be.

 

Everything is in motion.