The odd thing is
That since I’ve recovered from
My latest bout of physical illness,
My taste for practice has dimmed somewhat.
Tis peculiar because
It got me through it so well,
Or so I concluded then.
Is it boredom I feel?
Discouragement?
Or what?
I feel I need
A change of scene,
And as it so happens
I already identified one:
A meditation centre to investigate.
I had planned to visit sooner,
But my gastro-disaster
Prevented me from trying it,
And now I’m so far behind
On everything,
I never know when or if
I’ll get there.
What am I to make of
These setbacks?
I expect it’s best not to;
For, if I do, that might
Weigh me down more.
And thus I see how powerful
Thinking can be,
And how equally so is not thinking.
Refraining from constructing meaning
From these disparate pieces,
May spare me suffering,
Or, at least,
From a desolation of my own devising.
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