Living Water

Hummingbirds and lizards move in the cool afternoon sunshine,
Each seeking food in the tranquil gardens.
An ocean breeze, barely felt, yet just enough to cool,
Touches the faces of those wandering the grounds,
Looking for self, and God, in alternate moments.
Only to be discovered they are one,
In this paradise they call Mater Dolorosa.
Here she comes again,
On the horizon, I see the sun rising,
Fog lifting and the breeze picking up.
All beckoning the course of my desire.
Pleasure Island again.
I can never pass you by.
Time to go out this evening,
Rather than stay in,
And read, watch TV, do the chores.
The desirous sister takes me once again,
And introduces Sister Pleasure,
To the dancefloor once again.
For a fleeting moment or more rarely—sustained,
Pleasure visits us,
Accompanied, and never undetected.
If only enjoined by the soul,
For a moment of misunderstanding.
For what is the meaning of pleasure?
We cannot give love to another—if we know it,
We cannot receive love if we expect it,
We cannot feel love by wanting some.
Love is without expectations, agenda—even purpose.
Of days better spent, few can compare to one of fishing,
The search for the right fly,
Which emulates the natural world of the trout,
Who dispose of a smorgasbord of delicacies,
Based on the hour, and other factors.
The peace of the water,
Prayers for a calm wind,
And the continual search for the perfect cast,
Followed by the presentation of the fly;
All work towards a spiritual perfection.
But today,
The unlikely event of three rods,
And three casts,
Have all set their hooks in the lively fish,
Each of which desires to be of least import,
And leave the connection with the angler,
Forever.
Yet, each fish also wants the relationship to be complete,
To be at one with the fisherman,
So a strange yearning ensues,
While the fisherman deals with the problem of three fish,
On three lines.
All needing playing, exhausting, concluding and landing.