My Soul Doesn't Think At All

I don’t want to think, I just want to lie hard in my bed, listening to the rolling, trembling mountains of my body that don’t say a word.

I don’t want to think, I just want to give all of myself to this lawn chair, letting my eyes take in the cloud porpoises diving through the impermanent sky-surfs.

I don’t want to think, I just want my feet to run along this earth, each point of contact, each foot fall ringing like a bell of truth through the forest.

I don’t want to think, I just want to sit like a boulder on this cushion, greeting my ancestors, and letting all of my agendas and expectations slide away from me, too slippery to catch.

I don’t want to think, I just want the noisy silence to overtake me in a warm blanket of possibility.

I will let thinking rest, inert on the floor.

And in its place 

my bones soften in their marrow, 

my heart knows itself as a sun,

my breath follows old road rivers, 

the living world finds a chance with me,

and I finally remember that my soul doesn’t know to think at all.