There is a pinhole of light streaming through a blank canvas,
and as I ponder this portal, more is revealed—
always in time. We are in a conversation
with the unfolding.
There was a time when I would have torn the edges,
clawing my way with eager hands to get through that opening,
any opening offered me, context and content be damned.
But now I peer first, tentatively, at the world beyond—
the colors, the textures, the shape of what is waiting—
and pause before offering myself to it.
A gentle invitation rises, the encouragement that prompts me to enter
again and again.
I look forward to these openings,
even when they do not arrive on days I wish they would.
For I can fashion wanderings of my own imagining;
the path is mine to behold and engage,
a living dialogue with the day itself.
Not the narrow definition handed down by patriarchy,
but the wide-open thighs of a goddess in labor,
giving birth to what wishes to come through.
We need not manufacture an entire day—
why would we?
Instead, we set our feet upon a chosen path
and watch it unfurl before us,
dancing with the luminous threads of an evolving cosmos—
and we, never separate from that which knows
far more than we can fathom,
delight in the surprises and opportunities laid along the way.
Kohala Mountain Rd. ~ bj 2018