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.