Earthsprings Retreat Center

Only two weeks since the frost, yet
already all these weeds to pull
and the long, long conversation
again: “You have the whole meadow,
the whole forest, why must you grow
among the amaryllis, the beans,
the resurgent larkspur?” And the other
debate, the one with the Buddhist within,
about the right to intervene at all,
one life as precious as the next,
“I know, I know, however…”
while I, on my knees, sort carefully
among the shoots of wild onion,
day lily, and bermuda grass, until
finally the weed-pulling yoga begins,
the anti-meditation meditation,
wherein the monkey mind
is set free, allowed to go where it will
while I simply sit on the earth
and pull weeds, not actually paying
attention, not focused, like when
I watch tv or the internet or a book,
but soon, always, what a wonder,
out of the random twists and turns
of thoughts comes another voice,
oblique, but distinct, from the other side,
a hum, a line from a familiar tune,
meaningful, putting me back in touch
with someone long gone or far away,
or an insight, sudden, deep, new,
original, inspiring, comforting, or even,
today, the first line of a poem, intact:
“Only two weeks since the frost…