Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Point of No Return

It’s like trying to stuff a flower back into a bud.

After catching a glimpse of your dad putting on a Santa costume, or a glimpse of your original face, you can never see your world the same way again, no matter how much you may want to.  Even if you try to drown the awareness with distraction, or other drugs, you never permanently forget.

A thought persists, “I have no idea why, but I must keep sitting, no matter what.”  And maybe once in a while, you remember why.  Other times, forgetful, alone and afraid.

If there are miracles, one is surely the sangha.

I wrote a couple of poems:

My cowardice is in vain.
There is nowhere
To hide.


Round cushions,
Square mats,
Kind hearts.

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