Writings by Tim Girvin
W A T C H I N G

The slightest wind
ruffles the waves,
which whisper: where...
are you, where -- in your going?
Where now, do you wander?

Or are you merely drifting,
yet standing still, in
that watchful sentience:
the Watcher, sensing the
shadows now, the light...

Which shall emerge, later?
I, in walking the dark
predawn, hear the flickering of
early birds, calling out
even though there is nothing

To see, as of this rising.
But still, the world is
alive with action. Moths
gather to the flame, tiny
insects walk their knowing

Path -- understood by them.
Not by me. But they still make
their way, and I study them
magnified in the symbolic
instant, a moment of

Reflection, in this joy
of being here, alone:
All one, just for now,
yet knowing you are
here, in your spirit --

Remotely viewing this,
the momentum of discovering
which is shared in the
contemplation, of ripples,
in spreading energies

That circulate around
and through me, telling
me of the fullness of
the experience of now,
in love, thank fully.

tsg
decatur
4.44am
(Originally sent: July 2, 2005)

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