Ode to Port Townsend

Weathered, old, musty
Anachronistic
From days long gone
No longer remembered
Save for pictures
A faulty and impersonal
Memory, at best

Years have marched on
History has been made
Not here, though
Left behind in an earlier time
Forgotten, yet still here
Sharing glimpses of secrets
–A proffered hand full of mysteries

A sublime place
A masquerade where the clock stands still
The town that time forgot
Port Townsend
Playful ghost town kept alive

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Written while adventuring in Washington’s wonderful Olympic Peninsula a couple weeks back. I hope this inspires you to take a trip there as well.

Gassho!

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Losing Our Way

We lose ourselves, our worlds.
It’s so easy to do.
Getting lost is no different than losing sight of oneself.
I look up at the sky so intently that I forget I’m walking.
I stare down at my feet and no longer see the road ahead.

Such is our way as becomings—
On the way, open to the difference of each step of our journeys.
Yet, this is not tragic.
How else can we find ourselves and be reminded of the wonder we see in the world, if we’re not awoken from confusion—if we do not return from being lost?

Each moment is an opportunity to be awake to wonder and love, but it is no failure to lose sight of all when seeing from one body, one mind.