The Insignificant

Standard

Where is the ordinary,

the mundane, the boring,

the everyday washload of dishes

in the sink of my despair?

The weeds that grow in

the imagined pristine purity

of my garden?

The garbage pail that needs emptying

so regularly?

the window that need wiping to see

the path that needs sweeping?

the walk to the store

for the thousandth time?

The cooking of the meal for the millionth,

seemingly so distant from

the glories of the heavens,

those distractions of our minds,

the constant search for relief

from our suffering and pain

and the pursuit of pleasure or happiness

which leaves us so surprisingly empty,

asking, “Where is this reward?”

when it has passed.

I seek these,

these most insignificant moments

situated in the crevice

between darkness and light,

because there, I have heard,

is found the wellspring of our lives eternal

running so prosaically

from the kitchen tap,

neither sublimely nor miraculously,

where no one would expect it,

the simple truth of our being,

in motion,

flowing through us

in the service of life and love.

4/17/16 El Aguacate, Jal, Mx

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