By Lynn Bassett
Too many people, too many cars, too many boats
Too many children, too many (if you can call any of us this) adults.
Where are the quiet places, the places where you can hear yourself think.
Places where we can be still, quiet, relaxed. No pretense, no pleasing, no promises.
A place where we can exist and not exist, see and be blind, hear and be deaf, speak and be silent.
A place where the ant and the eagle are the same size.
The place where the smaller you are the grander you are.
Where something is nothing and nothing is something.
That place private place the only we know, where no one else has privilege too.
We should find peace there, yet that is just the place where we are most tortured.
I want my kindness to start there, my compassion to rise from that place, that place of both great darkness and great light.
Juxtapose, repose, suppose of such a wonderful loving, understanding place?