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Abstract

h of our day is truly real?</p><p id="a0d6">A day at the pond or at the beach is our guttural attempt to reach that which is beneath our speech and beyond that which we can teach</p><p id="b8c6">It is what we feel what, to us, is real what connects us to the divine like the sun at noon, we shine</p><p id="bff3"><i>Copyright by <a href="https://readmedium.com/white-feather-archive-index-c95167f7dbaf"><b>White Feather</b></a>. All Rights Reserved.</i></p><p id="5d1f"><i>More poetry:</i></p><div id="3d7c" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-doorway-of-stillness-9c78c583c306"> <div> <div> <h2>The Doorway of Stillness</h2> <div><h3>A poem of inspiration</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*bgK-M2xr5YZO0KtcVKi7aA.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="2599" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/too-late-to-pick-flowers-6eeea6aaed00"> <div> <div> <h2>Too Late to Pick Flowers</h2> <div><h3>After life suddenly sours</h3></div> <div><p>medium.c

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Like the Sun at Noon

How do we walk through our day?

At its zenith the sun exudes power high noon is the solar hour the energy is intense no need to make sense

It’s a vibe, a feeling A robust freeing from that which we thought we won after we fought

Does anyone ever win? A state we might always be in? Are wins and losses what we bear upon our crosses?

The eventual reckoning we fear barely makes it all ever clear there are still lines we must cross before we become boss

But is being the boss the best? Does it finally bring mental rest? Is the responsibility too much? Does it always come through in the clutch?

Or should we just follow the tune that plays at high noon that is in the right phase of the moon and be open to what will happen soon?

Should we follow our inclinations and dance? Are we afraid to take a chance? Do we close down our heart and our mind? For fear of what we might find?

How do we walk through our day? How much is true of what we say? How much is true of what we feel? How much of our day is truly real?

A day at the pond or at the beach is our guttural attempt to reach that which is beneath our speech and beyond that which we can teach

It is what we feel what, to us, is real what connects us to the divine like the sun at noon, we shine