It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
It is said that before entering the
sea
a river trembles with fear.
She looks back at the path she has
traveled,
from the peaks of the mountains,
the long winding road crossing
forests and villages.
And in front of her,
she sees an ocean so vast,
that to enter
there seems nothing more than to
disappear forever.
But there is no other way.
The river can not go back.
Nobody can go back.
To go back is impossible in
existence.
The river needs to take the risk
of entering the ocean
because only then will fear
disappear,
because that’s where the river will
know
it’s not about disappearing into the
ocean,
but of becoming the ocean.
