you do not have to walk on your knees

There isn't anything in this world but mad love. Not in this world. No tame love, calm love, mild love, no so-so love. And of course, no reasonable love. Also there are a hundred paths through the world that are easier than loving. But, who wants easier?...

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking. Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around as though with your arms open.

When I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.

And did you feel it, in your heart how it pertained to everything? And have you finally figured out what beauty is for? And have you changed your life?

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

You light the lamps because you are alone in your small house and the wicks sputtering gold are like two visitors with good stories they will tell slowly, in soft voices.

It is possible, I suppose, that sometime we will learn everything there is to learn: what the world is, for example, and what it means.

Well, who doesn’t want the sun after the long winter?

Sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins.

And someone’s face, whom you love, will be as a star both intimate and ultimate, and you will be both heart-shaken and respectful.

When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks? And should we not thank the knife also? We do not live in a simple world.

In April the ponds open like black blossoms, the moon swims in every one; there’s fire everywhere: frogs shouting their desire, their satisfaction. What we know: that time chops at us all like an iron hoe, that death is a state of paralysis. What we long for: joy before death, nights in the swale - everything else can wait but not this thrust from the root of the body.

I wanted to speak at length about the happiness of my body and the delight of my mind for it was April, a night, a full moon and- But something in myself for maybe from somewhere other said: not too many words, please, in the muddy shallows the frogs are singing.

And consider, always, every day, the determination of the grass to grow despite the unending obstacles.

My heart says, what you thought you have you do not have. My body says, will this pounding ever stop?

I do not know what gorgeous thing the bluebird keeps saying, his voice easing out of his throat, beak, body into the pink air of the early morning. I like it whatever it is.