Decorating purgatory

Living on that knife-sharp edge
twixt human and divine,
never blessed with infinite compassion
yet never fully present, grounded,
rooted in the real,
we're caught in the ache of peeling,
distracted by the shadows,
busily decorating purgatory
with our alien thoughts and plans.

Step outside obsession,
if only for a moment:
feel the forest pressing at your back --
the fresh green-scented air,
entangled branches drinking in the sky,
roots swimming synchronated in wet dark earth --
Breathe
and know the oneness of I AM.





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