He sits in the circle at the unstructured

Friends meeting breathing deeply

from the core, sitting in the Chi

posture, upright, shoulders back,

back erect, string in the center of

his head pulling him up, up, up.

Leaning slightly forward, he stares

out the huge wall of windows and

enters the tree trunk, working his

way up to the branches with each

deep breath and out to the leaves.

Sitting perfectly still he sways and

flutters with the wind. His head

becomes a leaf dog bobble-head

barking silently in the breeze and

then it grows into a coyote head

rearing up and down, backward

and forward, nostrils flaring in

and out on the outlook for smells

that spell danger. He closes his

eyes, leans back against the chair,

continues his long, slow, deep,

core breathing, opens his eyes

quickly, looks at the tree. Coyote

gone, just leaves fluttering. He

rejoices in the tree, but he would

still like to ponder the mountain

obscured by the branches and

become the mountain with people

massaging his erect shoulders

with their hiking boots as they

work their way to the top of

his head in an effort to grab

the imagined string pulling

Piestewa peak higher, higher,

higher during unstructured

worship at a Friends Meeting

House on a Sunday morning

in the desert.