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1. The Creative

 

The movement of heaven is full of power.

 

Heaven lies inert in your hand,

movement infuses it

cells leap alive.

I reach my hand towards you

Wavering flight over the depth.

 

My hand moves impossibly slowly

towards the surface

your eyes catch the movement,

the turning of the cells

 

like cogs in all this sea machine,

luminous threads beneath sight

yet your hunter eyes catch the move

Dragon appearing in the field.

 

We stop here. All the workings of the world.

Just at the edge of seeing it -

 

and to see would be to pull your body up onto the river bank

to sit, and watch

the river move as if you were dry. As if you were god.

Danger. No blame.

 

We stop here, and my hand is the one to reach you.

It reaches you, and slowly

 

There appears a flight of dragons without heads.

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2. the receptive

 

This is what you get when you really have no idea what to do.

And when this turns out not to matter.

By holding fast to what is right, it gains the power of enduring.

I am following you through the sunlit fields.

I don't know the name of anything.

 

Wherever you go

I'm there, nourishing as milk

in the shape of a shadow.

 

Without my following, there's no leading.

No creation. Just as there is only one heaven, so too there is only one earth.

Pass me whatever it is that needs to be carried.

The earth in its devotion carries all things

Without time. Straight, square, great.

 

In holding there is great power, in birthing.

When giving birth, you have no idea what to do. Any ideas will only

impede you. Follow.

Following you through the low sunlit fields without purpose,

Yet nothing remains unfurthered.

 

Walk in the setting of the sun.

Set down the load and set yourself.

Deepen into the earth that births, like a dead person.

Release the active forces

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