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we make ripples, pebble tossing into gentle ponds,
little splashes with widening arcs of tiny waves.
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with each force, the counter-forces play, Newtonian truth undeniable,
but toward what end our little waves, do shores know all about them?
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all resonance, patterns converge, a small thing here tips tides over there,
and a gentle push on gathering heaps of stone may launch the avalanche.
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small distractions sum together and then, an accident, a misplaced item, opportunity lost,
each day our little moves, our micro-sins and microbial graces, forgetting and remembering.
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our small commissions, omissions too, flitting thoughts about one who needs us,
light speed glances at those who sit alone, toward people sick, hungry children, and the littlest things, authentic smiles.
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an outstretched hand, a few moments away from our importance, seconds for such trifling things,
a nano-pulse, heartbeat, gesture, look, attention, listening, and the chance to heal.
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all the little things making the smallest ripples, ripples that combine on infinite seas,
and rise up, the soul’s tsunamis, adding charge to air, altering textures, shapes and bending time.
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When next we ripple in a so-small way, just maybe we’re the tipping push, that force too near to see its measure on other shores,
oh, yes, a weighty matter this, the storied consequentially small, and the monumentally imperceptible.
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© Brother Anton and The Harried Mystic, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.