Tea House

 By Mushroom Montoya

I have never ever seen  tea house,
Nor a mouse serving tea.

I've never been inside
A dwelling,
or a structure made from
The leaves of anything
And certainly not tea.

For a house to be a house
It must have at least one room,
If not more,
Where I hang my
Clothes, and keep a bed,
Where I can sleep
Without worry and dread.

Crushed tea leaves
Can't support a roof
To keep out the rain,
Or hold a window
to let in the moon
To tell me stories
Of magic and wonder.

Even if I could
erect a shelter
Made with tea,
A gentle breeze 

could make me freeze
on a frigid Siberian night
When it glides by
to blow me a goodnight kiss.

There'd be no bliss
trying to make a house
Out of tea,
Neither for you
Nor for me.

My Body Is My Vehicle

 

My body is a living vehicle, as one might consider a horse, who obeys most of my commands,  but not all. 

I put my vehicle in a soft blanketed stable for the night.  While it sleeps, I fly out into tangles and brambles of could be, can't be worlds where I try out other vehicles on different terrain.

Every Experience Counts

By Mushroom Montoya

Life may humble me as I age.

My body may slow me down.

And when I stop and think

of all the time

the Creator has gifted to me

I see that I have filled every moment

With experiences.

 

For each and every one

I am grateful.

Even the painful ones have given me

Something to experience,

 

To learn from,

To grow from,

To repeat

Or to avoid

In the future

Or right now.

 

That is how I’ve grown

Into the me that is evolving

Into the me who is here

Right now.

 

Therefore, no time has been wasted.

No time has been lost

Because without each moment ,

Without each experience,

Regardless of how mundane,

 

Each has contributed

To my personal evolution

Making me the me I am

Here and now

Wherever I am.

Controlling Our Mind Is Wrong

By Mushroom Montoya

Some dare to suggest
that we need to control
                                    our minds
So, that we may become
                                        enlightened.

Who, then,
is doing the controlling,
if not
our minds?

I shall do no such travesty
                            upon the majesty
                                                    of my mind.

For to demand control
is to make it behave
In such a way as to be acceptable
to others

Who do not care to know me,
well enough
                    To see
that when my mind is free
it invites creativity.

With that gift,
I can save myself,
And maybe the world,
from insanity.

I prefer to release all control
of my mind,
And encourage it to
                                wander
                                              and wonder,
Allowing creativity to devour it,
whole.