So much has been stolen from us by this evolution into our techno-monetary society.
I have but moments to view this beautiful morning through glass, passing at sixty-five miles per hour.
How I envy the rat and raven, free to consume the entire day, one sacred Now at a time.
Slainte,
Paz
Now
To these sheep grazing on the hill,
It is not Wednesday.
It is not 6:34, or July,
Or our pinnacle days of summer.
It is not infancy or maturity,
Youth or old age.
Nor a workday or holiday,
Not weekday or weekend.
To these sheep grazing on the hill,
To these calves basking in the sun,
To these birds that soar above me,
It is Now.
Seek peace,
Paz
Now
I don’t know why I love this Now, but I do, now.
Don’t know how to capture it, or why I should.
Is that not the essence of Now?
It cannot be preserved or lived over or in advance.
Now it is gone, and it is now.
Opening
I love this now because I can be me
or choose not to be me,
or, then again, have Not Me choose
to not be me.
This now has all of me,
The me I am
The me I want to be
The me I might wish I was
The me that will never be.
I love this now.
These “me”s.
Seek Peace,
Paz
Armchair Zen 