Lying in the grass
gazing at the blue sky
scudded across with
white and greying clouds.
My teacher says
our mind is like the blue sky,
punctuated with scudding clouds,
but can we appreciate they are
moving, not static?
They arise, move onto the horizon
of our awareness
and they go.
gazing at the blue sky
scudded across with
white and greying clouds.
My teacher says
our mind is like the blue sky,
punctuated with scudding clouds,
but can we appreciate they are
moving, not static?
They arise, move onto the horizon
of our awareness
and they go.
Some are more immovable.
They come
and seem to stay
longer than invited.
I see layers of clouds
letting sunbeams shine
arrow-straight, through.
Some come and go
with barely a moment’s interruption
to the blue sky,
and some linger,
demanding to be noticed,
begging for attention.
For all these clouds
in their shape-changing infinite variety,
the blue sky is unchanged,
untouched by them all
and remains a clear, blue sky.
© 7 August 2013
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