Attention is the beginning of devotion.

I worked probably 25 years by myself, just writing and working, not trying to publish much, not giving readings.

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I drink a long time. It tastes like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold into my body, waking the bones. I hear them deep inside me, whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?

I climb, I backtrack. I float. I ramble my way home.

Come with me into the woods where spring is advancing, as it does, no matter what, not being singular or particular, but one of the forever gifts, and certainly visible.

The stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who say “Look!” and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads. (from “Mysteries, Yes”)