traveler,
rest your legs a while and sit beside me.
the fire is dim but the warmth may reach you yet.
let me tell you of lives past,
of rivers lost and won,
of treasures that shift from gold to mud,
depending on the age?
we've reached another corner now,
do you see it clearly, or is it hazey?
the tea rises in steam and clears
your weary mind.
quiet, reposed,
you are open,
and listen passively.
do you see the steam dissipate in curls and streams?
going up and out into nothing?
so too can be said for our lives,
in ways we do not see,
busy twirling and curling about the air
we breathe as one.

if this is but gossip to you,
from the spirits,
then come to pass.
your tea will cool,
your bowl become empty,
and be you on your way.

if you stay,
i may only tell a tale as ancient as the sun,
no, more!
the sun knows this story too.

ah, so you remain,
so i shall tell.

before you were you,
you were everything.
before you were everything,
you were nothing,
and none of these things end at any point.

they curve, curve like the steam of your tea.
like the rivers outside.
like the thoughts in your mind.

nothing more, nothing more.

let us enjoy the night,
dance in the sunrise,
sing in mid-day,
whisper in the evening,
there is nothing more to say,
and no wisdom could ever usher more or less
than the rustle of cherry trees.

traveler,
you may tell me you are weary,
you are clouded in a fog,
and the steam is all but elusive.

traveler,
you may say that you are angry,
you are clouded in a fear,
and the mindfulness is all but hidden.

traveler,
i tell you only one thing,
who is it that knows the fog?
who is it that knows the hidden?
who is it that knows the unknown?
are you not already aware of these things?
are these things not unlike steam themselves?
why do you hasten your worry?
is that not the true hiding?
from yourself?
you already are, and that is effortless.

you have come into being so very naturally,
remain a while,
sip your tea,
sing and cry,
smile and be of joy,
there is nothing,
just watch the steam rise.