willing

crumbs...
i think.
leading to the heart.
might this be my calling?
to tear off a directive here
and a suggestion there
and drop them
with care or without
because the calling will only be heard
when the mind is ripe,
lush, dry, aching, exuberant...
in other words
ready.

when it is willing.

when it looks forward
to scrounging around for hours
beneath the sacred pines
hunting kindling to feed the fire
of it's own sweet self.

when it knows the bittersweet
paradoxical nature of the body
and chooses to paint itself brightly
to crack open the shutters of the eyes
and
and
softly place its tender feet upon the earth
humming with gratitude
ready
to play-

to know the radiance
upwelling from every other
because the confines are no longer
and the heart
she sees
herself.