A Gentlewoman's Surprise

Getting up early this morning to sit, 
she caught herself wondering— 

Why the hell do I do this?  Am I crazy?
What do I have to show 
for the years & years
of meditating nearly every morning? 

The Mormon Tabernacle Choir of 
personal injury lawyers on crack 
were at it again—chanting their bad advice 
& she was tempted to dial their 800-number 

When to her infinite suprise, 
the hellfire & brimstone preacher
who had kept this little girl on her knees 
repenting, all these years 

Gave way to the smiling presence 
of the gentlewoman 
who had always been 
sitting silently in the center of her heart.

As I entered the straw-bale chapel at Penuel Ridge,
A tall young man, in Tibetan garb, greeted me.
He was going to lead a session in chanting
the Heart Sutra. His head was shaved, and he had
an altar set up with pictures of his teacher, and his
teacher’s teacher, on either side of a golden statue
of the Buddha.

As I entered, he saw the Tibetan mala on my wrist
and asked, “Are you a practicioner?”

“Oh yes,” I replied.
“What lineage?” he asked.
“DaVinci,” I said.

He looked puzzled, “Tibetan Buddhist?” he asked.
“Italian Artist,” I replied.

A faint smile rose to his lips as we bowed to each other.

In the Secret Garden

One minute dreaming in bed
And the next wide awake
Looking straight into
Three hundred billion galaxies
Shimmering in your eyes

Sure, old Neil walked on the moon
But I feel like the first man
Ever to gaze into a woman’s eyes—
Before that damn serpent and
All the rest of that mess went down

Beneath the Knowledge
Of Good & Evil
Are the roots of Presence,
Entwining your Heart to mine
In the secret garden of the Holy One