Bud

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This spring-time bud is sleeping today,
undisturbed by passing thunder clouds,
unaware of the spiritual boundaries about to burst.
Rain and the warmth open what is hidden.
Up above, nothing is changing.
Even velocity is constant.
No attention is given to the passing rumbling and sparking.
High noon and night pass with such quiet notice.
Distant stars shine all the way into our presence.
This is how time is understood,
how space is interpreted.
The books won’t say. They remain ignorant.
The silence between cloud bursts
is a hint of our ripening, our awakening.
Anything to be here for that event.

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