Sometimes our identity
is like wine
in a glass.

When it gets too full
God likes to pour it out.

The glass sits empty,
before slowly refilling
only to be emptied out soon again.

And yet, there are times
when there is no glass.

In those times
I lay upon the Earth
and recall that I am
that which always changes…
like seasons, trees, rain, wind, temperature,
and that which never changes…
the raw aliveness of experiencing what is.

Beliefs, ideas, notions, concepts,
the wind blowing around me
knows nothing of these
and when I recognize
that I am the wind blowing around me
neither do I.

Wet leaves on my back,
from where I had lain,
bare feet mudded
from scrambling down the mountain,
and a full heart beating out the moments
I spend in this
large, great, nothingness calling Living,
which would be meaningless without Loving.

I cannot find the wine glass,
nor the wine,
but I am no longer thirsty
and my hands are filled with gratitude