Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's
hush I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at
night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.


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In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY



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