Tipping Point

(from Sanctuary)

I’m startled by this field of milkweed,
which seems to have sprouted overnight.

At first I thought,
New growth; new life.
But isn’t it the same life
buried unseen for many months,
now visible in an instant?

Isn’t this the new growth
of the same seed,
the original seed,
the first seed of creation,
sprouting in fractal forms
everywhere I look?

I’ve wondered lately,
What if there is no crisis?

What if it’s an imagined story,
this tipping point
into disaster or divine?
What if we could experience
each moment as sublime,
knowing that the days
will continue to unfold
with or without us?

What if the crisis is the expectation,
that we are supposed to achieve
some outcome or another.
But if there truly is no destination,
then how can any movement be wrong?

Could we let our stories fall
into the wasteland of ideas,

let our efforts and strivings
tear us so far apart
that all that’s left is
an unguarded heart?

Maybe then we can finally feel again
the wonder of a simple moment,
free of struggle,
free of hope.