after flying through three time zones,
moving an entire house on my own (the kids tried),
and then an additional five hours on the road,
got everyone settled, fed, and to sleep,
then found a spot on the front porch where
I sat down and sipped on an evening provision
influenced by masters from India and Tibet.
looked out up and out into that deep night
and admired its solitude which never fails
as a fine companion.
Mr. O’Donohue, my Irish mystic mentor, has taught
me that when you stand at the entrance of a threshold,
you don’t possess language big enough to
hold the size of the crossing.
“good,” I thought.
I don’t care to have a mouthful of delusion anyway.