The rain whips against my window
and the newly blossomed trees
are fast loosing their pretty petals
to the ruthless cold and wind
I wish that my spiritual practice
could sometimes be like
that wild weather
and move me to the places
I know I want to be
Winds that could blow
my doubts out the window
rains that would wash
the material ego out the door
hot hot sun to dry
my petty hurts to nothingness
and cold air to shake the
bodily concept of life
out of my head
Oh wild weather friend
keep knocking on my door
and stretching me
For it is said
if we cover ourselves
with a blanket of material comfort
we will fall asleep spiritually
I want to be awake.
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