Dharma of the Day #25 {forest , prāna}

from time to time

go take a walk in the forest

is it a silent place?

 

find yourself a clearing

sit with your back

up against a tree

 

clear your mind

and truly listen

is it silent now?

 

listen even more deeply

can you hear the drums?

that is your blood pulsing

 

when a bird comes along

look only sideways at it

do not stare!

 

become quizzical like a bird

turn your head

from side to side, weigh time

 

put out your hands

palms upwards

now juggle an imaginary ball

 

don’t drop it!

 

juggle it carefully

much like a fresh egg

soften each impact

 

how do your hands feel now?

 

try to inhale all the forest

through only your nose

exhale slowly, through your mouth

 

that my friend

is the smell of prāna!

can you also, hear it?

 

from time to time

go take a walk in the Forest

is it a silent place?

Forest “Haiku”

take off your shoes

stretch out toes

arching the foot

 

now step into verdant

on soft wet earth

and, tickling leaves

 

run fingers in ferns

the exquisite fronds

each, an eternity, making

 

the pungent evergreen

still, pining for a lover

in a scented envelope

 

a gnarled old oak

staunch and dependable

waits table, upon spring

 

he serves up only

finest bluebell champagne,

no more need of ice

 

the tapestry spiders

have been busy

catching tears in their gloves

 

the armoured holly

pierces a red blood sky

burying the past

 

the filigree ivy

relaxes and unwinds,

a cobra salutes the sun

 

no hot red coals

but soft green needles

soothing only, naked feet

 

the trees huddle so close

and bend to hug

they love a weary pilgrim

 

they offer a salve

and a nectar,

he drinks with desert thirst

 

such an ointment this

it soothes and balms,

a gurgling brook laughs

 

the forest is both

a doctor and a nurse

it opens a sacred tincture

 

the forest spirit

stands in the clearing

and with a twinkle, he smiles

Silent Forest

Turning left off the beaten path

following a deer run

through the ochre ferns

legs whiplash washed in passing

 

Voices and barks fade

as the hush starts to envelop

dripping wringing cloth damp

the mossy beards contemplate

 

The very time drop of tears

 

Squirrels scratch chalk boards

scurrying heaven wards

away from the intruder

 

Sat now oaken stumped

clearing the clarified butter

of thoughts to spread

upon the loaven slices of, silence

 

Freshly baked aromas

 

Cobweb calm and pine

amongst the scented rugs

laid wall to wall

and coned off from the world

 

Hern the hunter, pauses

proud and watchful

over the portal to Annwn

his domain

 

His eyes a quiver of questions

 

In the silent forest

the heartbeat slows largo down

breath bewitches a mist

on the cool canvas here

 

Sitting ancient hours long

the forest watches

its newest son

waiting for his belonging

 

Time stands statue still

 

Hern gives his knowing nod

and again, the forest lives

He is welcome here

He is home….