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Precarious Ground (Poem)
Right now I walk so uncertainly
With little knowledge of what will cause me to fall.
I can talk to a stranger with ease
But then a smile makes me flee to cry in shadows.
How to navigate this mercurial terrain baffles me.
The world shifts without warning,
While so also does my ability to adapt.
I had the illusory notion I could cope well.
This has fled, as I struggle once more.
How do I give thanks for this reminder of impermanence,
When I feel thrown back into depression’s embrace?
Surely some of my study and practice will stay
To provide a steadying influence while I falter through my day.
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Cry Sorrow, Sorrow, Yet Let Good Prevail (Poem)
I do not fear the monsters of this world.
I have long familiarity with these.
Depression, anxiety, and their coterie
Have almost been my family.
I dwell in comfort with such dark beasts.
What has the ability to undo me entirely are the beings of light:
Kindness, consideration, and their kin.
The afflictive malfeasants offer predictable torment
That at times seems almost a shelter.
I can hide with them from myself and the world.
Venturing into lambency that flickers with uncertainty
I find an often frightening task.
To see others is one thing;
To be seen in turn unsettles me in the extreme.
Still I take up this challenge,
With the words of Aeschylus giving me strength.
And the company of monsters ever at hand.
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Where I Am (Poem)
If I truly wish for all beings to be happy and free from suffering,
I must apply this also to myself.
At the moment, with my physical being wracked by pain
And my mind clouded by bleak depression,
I find this to be a difficult task.
Equanimity towards my own state is a struggle.
Occasionally I relax into spaciousness and acceptance.
But old patterns return again and again
To obscure my view and murk the light.
Sometimes I can see that these are illusion and let them go;
Other times I grasp them tightly as old familiar friends.
Indeed, they once were ropes that tethered me in safety.
So rather than judging them (and myself for holding on to such),
Let me honor their place, grant them gratitude,
And treat them gently with kindness.
I walk the path I do in knowledge that it looks the same
But, like everything, is always changing.
I still stumble and even fall. The rocks that bruise me
Appear like the stones from yesterday and before, even unto the distant past.
Yet when I pause to see, after the pain of impact, they are not.
I take hold again of my stick, pull myself up, and even take in
The glorious colors of the trees and sky and listen to the wind.
I walk on with my usual unsteady gait until the next halt.
This is where I am.
