Present

 

The present that is ever this given moment given, the present. Sight affirms. Words wonder at. One after the other, words. How to accept the present where it finds you. This can take years to learn. Yesterdays. Years to notice in its diverse colour. The houses passing by. The resplendent lay of the land. The same room. How you would like to walk away from this, into a future room more accommodating than this room. This yard of seasonal predictions. Blossom present, falling ice and bees. Hills of petals and hail. So many words. So much to take in. So much words cannot do. Or dream of a past that anyway surrounds you on all sides, the period glassware and stunning views, wherever you are now. Surrounds being what they are. A present you had no say in and how to live with it. Thank you being words it takes time to find. Stretching everywhere the eyes can see. Then again, the finest lace, a city rush. To start with, what’s going on? To startle with. To go on with, all of it. Odd, that you didn’t see it coming that, now it takes up your whole present, is something so obvious. It looks totally transparent, yet unwrapping it takes some time. All those invisible joins. Some times more time than currently available. Better just to leave the present transparent and uncomplicated. Allow it to continue. You take a deep breath of surprise or concern or joy or fortitude, a deep breath as you face up to the present. Sounds register. Night and day. A face and a name. It was simple, once. Curses can well up within you, wishing you were somewhere else, with some other present than this one. Thoughts the same as before, words getting in the way. Then what. Whatever can you hope to learn from the evil cast your way. Your being draws all its strength to curse the past that brought this to light. You could go on forever if you chose. Nowhere present in the present. Or worst. Or else. Blessing frees your being in simply blessing. The living breathing facts take in the present, without a second thought. Going into a tunnel. Coming out again. Acceptance. Finding a new road, a hidden grove, a far-out conversation. It is service to accept the present. Understood, misunderstood. Open-eyed, not another dream. Your body prefers to rest, not tense up. The antics of a pen have transferred to your iphone. Quill become keyboard. Transcribing present thoughts to sort them out. End of story, not. How blessed to stop for a time under these she-oaks. How long it took for them to grow to make such softening shadows everywhere. A present you walked into at just the right time. Better just to leave the present transparent and uncomplicated. So many words. So much to take in. So much words cannot do. Open-eyed, not another dream. Sunny shadows of she-oaks, a bottle of sparkling mineral water, everything going on that is given.