Sitting
When one can not
find an exit in the fog,
one might pause,
sit a bit in meditation,
in quiet contemplation,
to discover a singularity,
the present moment’s clarity,
or maybe just because.
To survive the fog,
one must be willing,
like a blind dog,
trusting itself, running
headlong into the mist,
accepting whatever comes,
including this,
the brilliant phosphorescence
of a new way to see the world.
To escape the pea soup
of not knowing,
one could make room for everything,
the invisible, the showing,
joy, grief,
misery, relief.
As a spider weaving a web,
starting from nothing,
grasping the difference
between action
and accomplishment.
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