Stay Simple

One of the mantra’s that is quite strong for me is to “stay simple.” It’s a reminder. It’s an affirmation. It’s a permission. It’s a simple note to tune to. It’s a clarity with subtext of “start here.” It’s got a lot built in. Like this flower blossomed in my garden this week.

I often find myself writing in very simple ways these days, particularly in my private journal. Yup, as reminder. And affirmation. And permission. Amplified by current context of Corona and what grows around it. Yup, writing simple, daring for it to be enough, an essence, like the flower.

Here’s a sample. I’d suggest it applies in many contexts as an invitation.

Just stay simple. 
It is unhelpful to clutter life with the clatter of worry.

Stay with Zen.
Live in the fullness of two-word sentences and affirmations.

Stay simple in lifestyle.
Drink water, exercise, eat simply, and be outside.

Count on friends.
We are not alone.

We need each other.

Poem — There Need Not Be More

I often find it is Zen-like expressions that move me most. Or Zen moments that are as simple as a deck chair and some deliberate morning stillness.

I wrote these simple lines recently. Yes, from waking. Yes, from living in continued pandemic presence. Yes, with invitation to move with life itself. Yes, with freedom to stay in the simple. Perhaps, just for this day.


There Need Not Be More

I am awake
from overnight rest.

as can’t be otherwise.

To start this new day,
with new me.

That’s all,
there need not be more.

Each Day — A Poem of Witness

Each Day

Each day demands more of being in the moment.
Leaning further forward with hearts not only cracked, but bleeding.
We are so far into it now
that I’m losing sight of where this path began.
It just is.

Each day reinforces protections and distance.
I’m in a bubble both respecting and guarding others’ bubbles.
People delight at transition to virtual
to which I add my marvel for creative resilience.
But I miss people.

Each day hope jitterbugs with fear,
clarity of essence with confusion of deeply creviced loss,
sadness of what once was two-steps with joy of what is birthing,
surrender stumbles to anger and back again to softness.
It too, this alive yet aching heart, just is.


Toward Pheasant Brook

On the way to Pheasant Brook, Lindon, Utah


I walked this morning.
Down Lakeview toward Pheasant Brook Park.

The sky was mostly blue.
The sun shined.
Dogs barked.

I did in fact see a Ring Necked Pheasant
that nervously scrambled from bushes,
startled by my passing.

That bird was impressive,
full color against the brown of yet un-budded spring.

I needed that walk today. 
To feel an unquarantined world.
To see majestic mountain.
To say and receive sun-warmed “Good morning”
with woman walking in opposite direction.

We are all a little nervous these days,
wondering about safety for ourselves, our loved ones,
and the postponed world around us.

We are all a little startled
and jarred by hyperbole that has become reality.

This time will pass.
There is budding yet to happen.
Open fields will grow vegetables.
Dogs will lick our hands, tails wagging.

There is much impressive beauty
among us,
and ahead of us.