Moonlight slaps the water I am looking at;
my mind numb-wanders, thinking thoughts to
match - a high-level meeting, a break-up of
an old alliance. Anything deep in these
whiskey-weeds, I'll keep that hidden and
quiet. No one else need know the ending.
My million-year-old monk has the mind of a
wattle but the experience of an encyclopedia.
No one does it the same : along the way, we
travel the stars and the passage on high : with
Ursa Major, known forlornly here as the Big Dipper,
we circle the north celestial pole without ever setting,
wheeling counterclockwise around the North Star.
Astounding how all these things are in human terms.
What's a dipper anymore anyway these days? And
who would know? Instead, water-shadows are
pealing the sound of this surf into the mystical
chords of an enlightened dealing : such grace
makes gratitude back - and I am so
thankful for that.