All I know is the way is always opening up
and never in the way you might expect.
The roads are not roads at all
but invitation into mystery and themselves
a mystery in their ever-shifting dimensionality.
They expand into kingdoms of plenty.
Or sometimes swallow us whole,
just as soon becoming a yellow spiral
or a dandelion field where the only place to go
is wherever you are.
All I know rises up within me
in the sound of the surf and the inevitable
roar of this wind within.
Mostly it is the unknowing I know —
the miracle that can only become
when we allow what is to be
and lay our hearts bare to the beauty we are.
All I know is that this —
this one gust of the wind,
this one dance of a day,
this single life poured out
is all that is and is always and forever
more than enough.