Quiescence

In the still of senses

Quiet rest of information

Coming through any channels

Of seeded, underneath

Fallow grounds wait

Wait in the dormancy

Wait without worry

Without concern of being enough

No judgement over

The fields of idleness

Quiescent hours spent

undoing,

non-seeking,

inactive

In the passive state

of latency—

No receiving

No giving,

No wondering even of when

Only a quiet trust in the Aliveness

Trust in the return in natural time

The return from the sluggish,

The turn over of the stagnant,

Trust in the relaxation

of bellies & tongues

of slumber days

of motionlessness

No wondering even of when

an inkling,

a tickling,

an urging

To flex yet again—

Rolling over, turning toward,

Rooting & reaching

After the still of senses

Quiet rest of information—

A verdant spiral emerging

Oh how potent to be Alive

Oh how fertile is our quiescence