Photo by Gamaliel Masters

Day Feast

The invite
written on scraps of clouds
and torn framents of oak leaves,
on the skins of oranges now hard
that never ripened or fell from the tree,
inscribed in the cells of my skin,
branded in bone marrow,
this invite says
come and leap into the feast,
the cosmic happening called now,
stay for the many nows
strung together that make this day,

have I lost my invite yet again,
I've done so many times before
on other life lit mornings,
tossed it tumbled unread
into the wastebasket all
crayon marked with worry,
or crumpled it in mindless haste
and flung it to the to do pile
that climbs higher each day,

Aha! the invite's found, come as you are
to the ongoing celebration, it reads,
no need to study endless maps,
just skydive in anywhere,
dance, whirl, foot stomp,
sing wildly offkey or not at all,
lizard dance on sunlit trails,
heart drum to the wingbeats
of hummingbirds,
give a great panther's roar
that tosses unwary frogs
off their lily pads,
trampoline a resounding yes
higher and higher
to this pulsating never ending
feast called life.

 Zen Oleary
April 30, 2003

More of Zen Oleary's poems (and poetry by others,
with excerpts from various spiritual teachers) can be accessed at:

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Sleeping Tiger Yantra