These Days<\/p>\n
At seven-thirty the sun
\nwrestles through violet clouds
\nand slaps the windows
\nwith its fiery tail, hushing
\nthe cats and their scatter-dance,
\nleading them as if in a trance
\nto the top of the stairs
\nwhere it opens its white coat
\nand ushers them in.
\nI walk through this day bedazzled,
\nstartled by the concept
\nof life as spiritual practice:
\nthe sacred act of stepping back,
\nallowing stressful words
\nand situations tossed my way
\nto travel through me,
\nno tattered residue left
\nbehind, this miracle
\nof heavenly transcendence.
\nMy ministry is simple\u2014
\nto seek the love and peace
\nlining the hidden pocket
\nof the present moment.
\nAnd the walls of resistance
\nin my body continue
\nto crumble, as my soul
\nslowly uncoils like a cat
\npulling itself from a sunny nap\u2014
\nthese days spent in the lap
\nof sweet surrender.<\/p>\n
–Laura Stamps<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
These Days At seven-thirty the sun wrestles through violet clouds and slaps the windows with its fiery tail, hushing the cats and their scatter-dance, leading them as if in a trance to the top of the stairs where it opens … Continue reading