Two sounds of Wonder

Wonder

The eye that learns to wonder

sees every corner of the world bathed in beauty.

It is not the chasing of new visions,

but the seeing of ancient things

with a newborn gaze.

Do not leap from branch to branch—

go down into the root,

to the depth where no one has yet wandered.

The drop is known,

but the ocean still waits,

infinite and untouched.

Wonder does not tether the cloud

to familiar forms.

It whispers: this shape has never been,

and will never be again.

It is not to wish for “a wonderful day,”

but to fill each day

with the presence of wonder.

It is not the naming of things,

but beholding the unbroken thread

that binds all forms together.

It is not the counting of steps toward a goal,

but the miracle you notice

at every footfall.

It is not the courage to remain yourself,

but the fire to be remade,

to surrender and transform.

It is not the single “right” choice,

but to choose,

and then breathe rightness into the choice.

Not one shining heroic instant,

but a thousand tender,

unfinished openings.

Not the extraordinary beauty,

but the ordinary

suddenly ablaze with light.

Wonder

With eyes of wonder, Beloved,

the whole world turns beautiful.

Not in chasing new sights,

but in seeing the old

as if You had just made them.

Not leaping from flower to flower,

but sinking into the root

where Your secret fragrance sleeps.

The drop we know,

but Your ocean remains—

my heart longs to drown there.

This cloud above me—

it has never been,

and never will return.

It is Your hand’s passing gesture.

Do not ask me for “a wonderful day.”

Give me instead

a day filled with Your wonder.

Not the names of things,

but the hidden thread

of Your presence in all things.

Not counting the steps

toward a far-off shrine,

but singing at each step,

seeing You in every stone.

Not the pride to say,

“I am myself,”

but the burning will to change—

to become Yours, wholly.

Not one great heroic deed,

but a hundred little offerings,

unfinished, imperfect,

yet given with love.

Not beauty rare and distant,

but the ordinary clay,

glowing with Your light.

O Krishna,

this is my wonder:

that in every breath,

You are new.