The Dust We Eat

I went running a couple of days ago and felt a new kind of solitude. I was the only person out on the course because it was almost 100 degrees. My face felt as though it might melt away from the pavement's radiating heat. I tried to ignore the heat and dust, but ultimately, I recognized that I am mortal, and I cut my run in half.

Here's a meditation by one of my favorite poets for those of us who are running outside in this summer season. It reminds me of a zen poem about a monk who finds enlightenment while gazing at peach blossoms. Whether it be in peach blossoms or on dusty roads, may we find peace wherever we can.

"From Blossoms"

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

- Li-Young Lee