an old oak,
gnarled and moss-covered,
receives rain.
A wooden chair,
bleached grey by the sun,
is darkened with wetness.
Random tapping...
raindrops,
footfalls on cedar steps,
car door slams,
engine revs,
bird calls,
refrigerator hum,
more...
Sound, light, texture
fill space.
Senses move,
engaging.
Through the senses
mind flows,
filled with the miracle
of being conscious
in a body,
in the garden of the world.
To call this "mindfulness"
could reduce the world
to the space within the skull.
To call this "body-fullness"
might foster beliefs in the limits
of physical form.
To name this sensuous totality anything
may miss
the delicious permutations
of spaciousness
flowing as consciousness
as mind
as body
as world
as we know not what
as the sweet failure
of attempting to describe
the indescribable.
The best I can say,
Is-fullness....
In overcast light,
an old oak,
gnarled and moss-covered,
receives rain.
