the stones don’t struggle.
they sit and wait, shaped by wind and water,
creating the landscape and offering seclusion,
a place to stop,
to feel ancient.
enveloped in a history with no beginning and no end
didn’t we invent time?
and don’t we still, in its passage,
create the pulses,
the ticks and the tocks,
the years, the candles, the distinctions?
and yet we suffocate in its expectations,
feeling younger than we’d like to be,
older than we are.
but running from death’s uncertain promise.
numb to our own existence,
asking questions in a language whose words have no meaning.
we consume our experiences and feel malnourished afterward.
today is different.
today begins when the light brightens in the suns eyes
and the earth swells upward with energy to meet the heavens.
it begins with internal rhythms whose beats we may not recognize,
but whose wisdom is true and purpose is pure.
it begins without a struggle.