These early mornings, disturbed by bladder, bowel and mind

And when it wakes, the stories come. ‘What does this all mean?’ they say. Pretending to help.

I choose Love, I choose Joy, I choose Peace

The stories are empty of these – all of them. They can never be otherwise.

And when story stops, in the hidden sky behind, all I could ever want is present in an instant.

My prayer for the day, my choice, my stand

To let story fall away

And find myself complete and present

Like I have always been

From time to time I just forget