Hesitantly, standing between worlds.
The gate is open, Dear heart.
What kind of medicine are you caring in your pouch, Pilgrim?
Turkey feathers, lizard's tails, a worm's body,
a small brush of deer hair,
a ray from the full Moon
a tattered picture of Shangri-La.
Is it enough these few things,
To stand by the high tide
Without being swept by the tsunami of your life?
Buddha whispered from that deep place within.
"Medicine pouch full,
You're enough;
These few things enough."
Opening your whole body/heart to the deep water
Pulling you out into the world
Everything held in the original ordinaryness,
A picture frame bigger than the cosmos.