I hold you more dear than myself
closer in the night cradled so gently
my heart become a feathered bird
able to fly in sun-filled dreams
laughter filling my days
so that I open the door to joyous greeting
having been guided home by your smile
and no waves of sorrow no rainfall of tears
will ever be strong enough to wash these away
your love a steady comfort
your memory a precious gift
I sit on the side of the road
holding the hand of a small child of grief
he rocks besides me disconsolate and starving
I give him water drawn from tears
and food pulled from rocky hardship
to feed him with what he’s known
were I to offer the radiant fruit of jewel trees
that shelter us both from the burning sun
he would die from shock
there is no city where I’ve loved you more
there is only this room this one room
where I never held you at night
never watched you stretch your elegant limbs
never heard you at the door waiting
and yet you walk beside me down every street
knowing that strangers pause at your beauty
ready to comment on your striking eyes
throwing compliments down around you
as you move through these with dainty mien
I follow with a foolish contented smile
my heart tethered firmly as you lead
the stone in the street asks
why do you choose this path
and I answer
when there is no destination
any road will take you there
furthermore say
why do you rest on this pavement
no reply so I pick it up
leave it somewhere along the way
on a windowsill or a bench
there to have different conversations
when it happens and it must
will you sit beside the uncertain moment
stunned into a concrete pose
then begin to weep when you find your voice
and in this childish abandon
hear the work that you have to do
again and again until you don’t
this life short as any so now is the time
will you turn away in fear and say
I do not dare I do not
then grasp the banister tightly
as you hurry down the staircase
tripping over coffee spoons oyster shells
chased by questions of lingering intent
again the knowledge you have work to do
or not
the fog the dusk the narrow streets
the evening the tea the silent seas
the snicker and the scuttling claws
relax relax let go
no need to return from any death
be a prophet, a fool, or attendant lord
hear mermaids sing or drown beneath waves
all these already yours
breathe
nothing can happen nothing can change
the morning will always be
the blast of the train before it blocks the road
and the crows sharpening their gaze
remember how heavy time hung in the air
in the hot afternoon of childhood
moments dripping like limp leaves from the mimosa tree
disappearing faster than that one cicada brood
every labored breath took me forward
every fall a type of momentum
early lessons that any route leads somewhere
even for the dead
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.
How do I construct a world?
The very sky is ever-shifting with shadow and light.
The earth beneath moves and trembles.
The lines of existence are in flux.
Dreams fly apart and come together in unrecognizable forms.
Past and present spiral and flow in mutable streams.
Any certainty slips through my hands like liquid sand.
But glorious songs weave through the cracks in hope.
So I celebrate nonetheless.
Practice can be difficult.
Often my body is filled with pain
Or clouded by fever.
I realize again
That compassion and patience
Must be extended to myself.
I consider impermanence and the connection of all,
Grateful for the many kindnesses of others.
These current conditions will change.
One breath at a time.
Where do I take refuge?
If I build my happiness on external factors,
I will lose this. Always.
A futile task, as this brings short-term satisfaction
Which leaves me wondering where to go next.
My home will present problems
So that I move to find a better place. Again and again and again.
I think surely this time I will be content.
But there I am, and I remain the same.
I cannot leave myself behind
Yet I cast my unease as resulting from the wrong circumstances.
I want to stay in the place where I dwell
Without adding to my own suffering.
Just being alive can bring pain enough.
Let me learn wisdom, practice kindness,
Thereby to find peace.
