When to the River Cerro Uritorco, Argentina Can I walk unfettered through the autumn leaves, breathing the chilly mountain breeze and be, just – simply walking being – not on a path, nor a crusade, not coveting higher consciousness nor greater subtlety – Just, walkbe, Unattached to the illusion of my own grandeur, confidently unsure of the boundaries and depths of my being, never sure if I am on the path, off the path, or the incarnate path – being peace, as silently as silence does, with neither reasons nor goals, just Smilebe, Not striving towards the mystical realm in material terms, just, accepting, being, here, neither scientific nor spiritual, proving nor denying, never decreeing nor decrying, ascending nor descending, neither active nor apathetic, neither above nor below, just Gentlebe, In silence- knowing by not; teaching by not; learning by not; equilibrium without measure, every sense firmly contoured within and around me in the presence of absence of a self in a world not bent on defining differences. Silentbe, The autumn breeze whispers the secrets of death to the morning flowers still poising on the drooping stems, to the golden leaves still on the branch, to the thinning hairs still on my head, to the birds too feeble to seek a warmer sun, Nowbe, Eternally in the now of life and here of death, where nary a compass could point to the truth; where only rivers know the secrets of the mountains, the secrets of the rose, When to the river, autumn leaves its place of perch and every lane regales, a walk-in Renoir, the season's final warbles before seeking another sun, blossom the joys of simply being, As a solitary leaf waits for its colours to fade and its name be called, A feather is lost, yet flight. A dog is heard, yet silence. ! Copyright 2007, Tom Radzienda. !