Is it in the sunlit meadow?
Is it in the rocks and trees?
Is it in the blue and yellow?
Is it in the one who sees? --
This radiance I recognize,
even when I close my eyes
Is it in the words you've spoken,
as trackless in their flight as birds...?
Is it in the silence broken?
Is it in between the words? --
This living truth you make so clear
The speaking stops, but still I hear
And I cannot see how I missed this before
Who I am is always here; of this I'm sure
Is it in the circumstances?
Is it in a quiet mind?
Does it only come in glimpses?
Is an event in time --
This peace, this peace that permeates
my mind, my moods, these changing states
Is it in your form that I hold so dear,
or older than your ocean eyes?
When you walk away, does it disappear?
Could it be so localized? --
This love, this love which no one claims
You come, you go, but it remains
And I cannot see how I missed this before
The love we are is always here; of this I'm sure
Is it in the sunlit meadow?
Is it in the rocks and trees?
Is it in the blue and yellow?
Is it in the one who sees?