Leis out to the World A collection of poetry by Matthew Foster Time present and time past
Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future And time future contained in time past If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable What might have been is an abstraction Remaining a perpetual possibility Only in a world of speculation What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden
Solitude
Finished meditating in complete solitude Woke up, and felt like I had been on a high ridge— with some altitude. Seven thousand feet above the creek. Beyond the white pine roots, which bind the rocks to gether Comes walking a boy with a wooden stick. Green meadow watered by past memories, slowly dropping down on the both of us. The boy asks himself, innocently, “why can’t I live with the trees?” I heard his thoughts wander through the cold and winding path. I laughed and thought to myself, “When I am back, I will still be hiking on the same path”
Daisy Miller
Along the city streets the moon shines on a flower In a clear sky it illuminates the truth Great sympathy for such a pearl Buried in the sand What is this culture?
37 Headwaters Magazine
Photo from September 2018
Two Branches
I can see branches growing, but moving further and further away. Originally connected like the four-armed body—the divine mirroring each other’s eyes. Undivided, thriving in a vibrant landscape where they walked by rivers through deep green grass, And then split. Cracking until they continually grow further and further away, hoping to flourish Together like they once did. Spring-water in the aquamarine creek is clear. Moon light on Ko’olau mountain range is white. Silent answers—the soul is enlightened of itself. Contemplate the void and separation: This way of life is detrimental for the soul and exceeds stillness all at once.
Why I meditate
Looking at a busy street People moving towards the end Awkwardly passing by each other A big tree begins to creak. I’m walking back to Trinity campus While I slowly am pondering the endless possibilities That could have happen Back in Hunt Hall I rushed over to my yoga mat and meditated The drop of water leaves the leaf Falling from the tree—pattering the lake softly, con necting with a greater whole
