Tickling the Future

Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.

 

Grasping things

brings sorrow

releasing tight fingers

unfurls joy

 

A free bird of light

which cannot

know cages

for they are not there

 

An open hand

can tickle all the futures

as a feather

blown on the wind

 

A closed hand

has no eyes

and a fist

no love

 

There is no room

at the inn

for it,

no manger

 

The wind of mind

blows free

through the fingers

the open palm, a nest

 

Where infinity is born

soft harmless

in touch

a kernel

 

A delicate Dove

tender

under the armpits

a giggle

 

Better to tickle

the future

than to grab

at it

 

Finger through

dreams slip

a rainbow trout

in a mountain stream

 

Haste fails

nascence waits

dressed dew like

in patient dawns

 

No force

no demands

only flowers

opening softly

to cherish the sun

and tickle the future