Thank you Mountain Mother,
whose overflowing breast
nurtures us with white streams.
You are boundless healing.
You have no other name
but the silence of your majesty.
Thank you, spirit of the trail,
for every trail has a spirit,
and every spirit has a trail.
Thank you perfect sun and moon,
wind and dust and cloudless sky.
I offer you the pain in my knees.
I know that every atom in my bones
is filled with the bliss
of intergalactic spaciousness.
It is a good day to die.
It is a good day to be born.
O Soul, be not deluded
even by this beauty:
Earth bowing brown and green at your feet
is but the shadow of your body,
Blue firmament above but a reflection
of your consciousness.
What is a full moon but the likeness
of your mind at peace?
What is the sun but an image
of the pulsating hollow
an inch above your belly,
your golden manipura
spilling treasures of generosity?
Even this vast crystal dome
of the Mountain Mother
is but a mirror of the radiance
that surges from a dark well deeper
inside you than yourself.
(Photo and poem today, after
a full moon hike to Mount Tahoma)