Though I know that change is constant, sometimes I resist it until I don’t.

I was up in the night beckoning and receiving a wider view.  I love the spaciousness of early morning hours with nowhere to go and nothing to do, so that what’s deep within comes creeping and dancing forth.  

When my sons were young, we spent the night at the Monterey Bay Aquarium.  We placed our sleeping bags near the octopus tank, and in the evening darkness, he/she unwrapped to explore.  We watched with care.

My inner felt like that this morning, a nuzzling forth and a peering out. There can be safety in the dark.

In cleaning, cleansing, and opening space in my home, I feel spacious.  There’s more to go but certain sections have objects touched, contemplated, and chosen to stay because they give me joy, and touching inside gives joy too.  I welcome and give thanks for this poem.

INSIDE THIS CLAY JUG

A POEM BY KABIR, TRANSLATION BY ROBERT BLY

Inside this clay jug

there are canyons and

pine mountains,

and the maker of canyons

and pine mountains!

All seven oceans are inside,

and hundreds of millions of stars.

The acid that tests gold is here,

and the one who judges jewels.

And the music

that comes from the strings

that no one touches,

and the source of all water.

If you want the truth, I will tell you the truth:

Friend, listen: the God whom I love is inside.

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