“There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.” ―
This morning in the portal by the lake
my heart exults. New visitors appear:
a cinnamon singer–I came ill-prepped,
dashing back to the human realm for books
and binoculars. Oh, brown thrasher, sing
our true connection. From this moment on
inform my now with highest intent: love
bypasses the television-controlled
lethargic worried minds fatigued by non
sequiturs, an incessant house sparrow’s chipping. I sit with birds, we electric
beings on the brink of discovery,
awakening again and again to
new creation always buzzing, humming
sacred unknowable unmoving light.
Featured image of a brown thrasher found here.