Curtains: Folding and Unfolding

This meditation mostly about
Holding the posture,
Which at the end
Found I’d done incorrectly!

Experimented with full lotus,
Went surprisingly well,
Seems better on the floor,
Too painful with cushions;

Amazing how hard
To maintain a posture,
And whenever my mind wandered
It was because I’d let that posture slip,

Every time I noticed,
Energy redirected towards the posture,
Very effective for
Re-establishing concentration;

Found this practice
Valuable and helpful,
Learning how to be,
Or merely re-discovering?

Afterwards, when sitting
With my tea,
Felt much better,
Still felt concentrated.

Gosh, peace is hard work!
Sitting around only
A small part,
For then there’s everything else,

But that’s most of it,
This effort seems so puny,
And the rest so enormous,
Or maybe simply because of identification with
Only one tiny bit, instead of just inhabiting all.

Cursory: Looking Over

Temporary relief,
Once again
In the form of
A delicious repast,

It goes by so fast,
Replaced by
Some new unpleasant task
Or disagreeable happening;

That’s how it goes,
Until equanimity is reached,
The walls of misery breached,
And the final letting go;

There are these moments of peace
But no everlasting release,
It’s only back to the kitchen
To prepare another feast,

It always comes back to food,
At least in my present mood;
It’s the simplest of pleasures
That seems to satisfy the most,

It’s all about
Basic needs:
Peace and quiet
And a full stomach.

And then?
That’s the question,
What’s next?
Suffering prevention?

I’ve tried to find that certainly,
But seems to be in short supply lately.
I’ll just have to keep going
And looking straight ahead
At what’s here until I’m finished.

Currents: Indigestible

Fuzzy mind,
Unable to settle,
Unable to concentrate;
It’s a migraine fog,

Difficult to penetrate,
Head like oatmeal:
Soggy and runny,
Milky and flaky,

My eyes swollen up too,
My stomach full of
Knots of nausea;
It’s most uncomfortable,

My back is hurting
From top to bottom,
My neck is tight
And my head aches too.

Oh, how I detest
This feeling,
And yet there’s a pleasantness
If I don’t fight it,

But if I give in
What will I achieve?
And there’s always
Buckets to do.

It’s suffering stew,
Luckily I enjoy cooking
That’s something at least,
And better than complaining;

Alas, my poor readers
Cannot partake in the feast,
But have to make do
With word soup instead.