Somewhere in that innocuous cardboard box
in that mishmash of small, grey misshapen pieces
is that which demands my attention
and the muse whispers to me from within
the message I hear is to remedy the confounding puzzle
that is roping me to the lost pieces of spring.
The enigma of a journey with a tattered cryptic lid
a prairie harvested field vapid cloudy day? or,
a wolf lurking in Grandma’s snowy woods?
and within, the hippopotamus pile there must be a singular nugget
surely of seminal quality so I am lured to the stage set to reveal
some magical ancient myth…
wrinkles in time, vibrations
each piece of slate seem so benign on its own
yet must obscure the secret to hidden truths
holding promise as facets of the forever jewel
needing setting into place to issue
captivating news of the holy grail.
But, I am baffled and in my pause, I hear
more news from my muse to closely heed the vibration
each note, in a melody, each piece an essence
an atom in the solar system
even broken or lost, evolves into wrinkles in time
vibrations of the puzzle
preludes to prodigious scores
the essential pieces when freed
they burst gifts of puzzling wonderment.
Even the most random can bedazzle
as the paradoxes when gentle in the unravelling
with your intuitive heart
and your koan unfolds authenticity
your puzzle pieces, a cherished patchwork quilt
a matrix, a rich, treasured tapestry
when threaded with patience and care.
~ namasté, Leah J. 🕊
🕊 the art of being authentic
embracing mindful, empowering transformations🕊
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