Leave the house.
Yes, absolutely, you must leave the house and
step onto the snow, whose surface
slams like a storm door.
You are fracturing the world.
You are making room for the world.
Step out and listen. Not every step falls through.
Heel is a drum. Toe is another drum,
and both in concert with the snow
tell your eyes
YELLOW / BLUE / YELLOW / WHITE
The shadows tell you
The thin powder on the surface tells you
Your ballet lessons were not a waste
Your sitting at a teal-beige desk containing State of California textbooks was not a waste
Your thousands of hours of sleepy distracted numbed jonesing meditation were not a waste.
These are how you built the attention you bring to hearing the dry beech leaves flutter, and to
fluttering your mittened hands in return.
These are what built your body to fly circling over the stubble-field's bright mirror of snow.
You have left the house for the world.
Twist in and around, pelvis and shoulders guiding,
birch saplings guiding
woodpecker so close
heavy feet in boots.
This morning is the morning of training bearing fruit in no-training.
These steps say all of your training was worthwhile, every bit,
and here is why you no longer need it,
and here is this high bright call fleeting,
fluting at the edge of field and forest,
world and world.
No go inside to sit some more,
bowing first to the wild masters all around,
complete and steady in their truths.
Julie Püttgen is an artist, expressive arts therapist, and meditation teacher.
108 Names of Now