These are the Precious Moments - poem

These are the Precious Moments

These are the precious moments:

Fire dying down now,

Some errant flames eke life

Where mostly there glow coals.

I am relaxed,

Watchful of dawn’s quiet glory above us all,

Pure and silent despite the din

Of burly traffic thugs below.

The morning birds have not yet perched

With their anticipating chatter,

To flit amongst these flowering bushes,

Knowing this place, this oasis of life,

This tiny garden always surging into jungle,

Even whilst waning sure to winter.

These are the precious moments

When that predawn friend of midnight blue

Trilled its rightful soul as it does each night’s end,

Heralding even the dimmest light of dawn,

Trumpeting our Goddess Dawn, harbinger of light,

The livening force creates the busying day,

Sun of people, creatures, plants, and play,

And even, yes, the moving air.

These are the precious moments

Where yet the moving mind

Of abstract worry on baseless fear,

That ferments of its own account,

Has not imposed upon our knowing

The unknowing of our eternity,

Our truth of crystal, present awareness.

These are the precious moments

When the living person knows clear distinction

Of Eternal Self from automated thought.

Prior to serving mind into the sun-filled day,

There is then, yes, this precious moment,

Calm, twixt night and light,

Where we are bright in God’s pure knowing,

Where in this knowing we are—

We are, and we will always be, pure.

Brijendra Robert William Eaton

15 November 2022

By the outside fire.