I sing of hemlocks whispering mysteries,
Of meadows green with promise,
Of lakes with secrets,
Of mountain peaks in touch with eternity,
Of solitude filled with murmurings we can never quite hear,
Of presences that hover just beyond the edge of perception,
Of meanings etched in snow, transcribed with wings;
I sing the truth
Of hidden things.
~ from THE ART OF BEVERLY DOOLITTLE by Elise MacLay and Bev Doolittle
I saw Nuri sitting in meditation so motionless that not even one hair moved. I asked, "From whom did you learn such deep meditation?" "I learned it from a cat waiting by a mouse hole. The cat was much stiller than I.
