Clarity Among the Stones

I walked the stone paths of Samye's grace,
Beneath the watchful eyes of stillness.
Each petal, each breeze, each ripple in the pond—
A mirror asking nothing but presence.

I had carried noise—my old ache and rush—
Like weeds choking the space within.
But in this garden, hands unclenched,
I met myself beneath the skin.

The monks spoke little, and yet I heard—
A silence more precise than thought.
The lesson bloomed: to see what's true,
You must first let go of what you’re not.

With Kelli's hand, I made my vow—
Not to be perfect, only clear.
To trim with care, to tend the root,
And let love rise when the way is near.

© Susie Stiles-Wolf