what is the mundane?

more of the same,

the day to day?

Is this not all we have?

earth, rock, dirt and grass?

fire, water, streams of conscious energy?

the inward pull of gravity?

earth, rock, dirt and grass

allow the question to be asked

what is the mundane?

that gnawing in your veins.

iron, blood and oxygen

coalesce to reminisce on times when

all was just

star dust.

 

what is the miraculous?

if not more of the same

this day this day

children play in grass and dirt

spinning with the Earth,

some distance in an omniverse.

Distant far off galaxies,

delicate sweet gravity.

All of Us

Being

Miraculous.

 

Has not the Kingdome come?

Are not all things One?

Have we all grown so blind, deaf, and dumb?

 

The Ordered Chaos of it All

The sound a tree makes in a silent forest as it falls.

The wind beneath the eagle's wings,

The math behind the music when she softly sings.

Is this not all a single lovely harmony?

An infinite vibration of quantum strings,

old hymnal's on a sunday morning.

 

Does Heaven not surround you?

mountain haze and morning dew.

sunrises in the rearview.

acquantaince and companionship

short springtime roadtrips.

How is

all of this

anything short of pure bliss?

 

so what of work, and hurt, and toil,

Are we more than wet, organized soil?

would you say there is a soul?

would you say you have control?

 

And what of precious time?

Where is yours, and when is mine?

How

is any of this allowed

to be so?

and what would it mean to truly know?

 

Can we really say

anything is mundane

when All of Us

Are

Miraculous?

 

Bless this most holy of breadish loaves