Yesterday I sat beside
a pristine mountain lake
where sky and pines and water
lost their names in Seeing,
where Listening became
a single bird-song, wind song,
water-lapping song of joy.
Today, there's no more longing,
no more pain inside the heart;
the devotee has disappeared
into the scent of Now,
and space has blown desire
from its latest hiding place
into the peace of being where I am.
Dorothy Hunt
Photo: Peter Bowers