Time Turns to the Scent of Liquid

The scent of the pores of the Earth

Opening up as the sky pours into it.

Smells have no filter.

They draw a direct line to the past.

With one deep inhalation

I am connected to a million lives lived.

Past lives are subtle

But my childhood is vivid.

We take the long way home

No matter the weather.

All four windows down

As we drive just below the speed limit.

The wind blowing in my mother's hair

Nostrils out the window and parallel to the headlights.

Pulling the miniature forest into her lungs.

As a kid it was just

Another strange adventure.

But also fun to see

My mother transported to another time and place.

Our drive was through a thin slice of the park.

But she devoured that slice

And it fed her until our next ride.

I pulled more moist air into my sinuses

Into the backs of my eyes.

I opened up that memory

And let it pour out back into the soil

So that the next time it rains

She can enjoy the scent again.

Moment Contains Infinite

It's been years since I held a galaxy in my hand

I pulled it in towards my eyes

and it made me a bit uncomfortable

how it also pulled me in.

Race tracks ran down the top like

an intricate system of Maglev trains.

Crackling commences all around me.

I panicked for a second

worrying that I had

lost something in that

close by galaxy.

I let go and

let it continue to flap

in the wind.

I sat on one of

the grey rolling cliffs

meandering out radially

like aquatic serpents.

It was as if I was sitting on

the giant leg of

a wise ancestor,

turned entirely grey from

deeply rooted wisdom.

Did it also recognize me as kin?

The crackling rain poked

at the leaves on the ground

while my kindred spread its arms

and hunched over me,

letting only intermittent pattering through.

We sat there together

until I spilled over with

the overwhelming novelty of stillness,

moving around in a rabid search

for novelty in more movement.

Did that tree know I wasn't yet ready to learn the whole lesson?

Did I just buzz away like a fly?

That tree is no doubt there at this very moment, staying still, soaking in the gifts of star-born wisdom while we all move so fast we stir the cosmic pot we find ourselves in, never able to see the detailed components and interconnectedness because we've lost the ability to stay still long enough.

Maybe that's what we try to do with sleep.

Perhaps it is no coincidence the Buddha found enlightenment through stillness at the base of a Fig, if in 30 minutes it could begin to show me the threads of interwoven fabric we all belong to.

Thank you for your patience Fig.

I look forward to seeing you again.