Crestfallen: Unnecessary Agitation

I made a mistake
That took hours
To correct,
But that wasn’t
The end of it,

For I’d made another major one
Prior to that one
Within the same document,
How annoying!

And it would probably have remained
Uncovered, undiscovered
If I hadn’t corrected
The first one.

Both frustrating,
And stimulating;
I may be up all night
Recovering from this run,

After all that metta too,
To get so excited,
Wisdom bypassed this time
Or so it seems,

Stumbling around,
Falling in and out of trouble,
Bursting the bubble,
Stubbing my toe I hobble,

Rubbing my sore foot
And wiping my brow,
Exasperated and exhausted
All over again,

No use reacting badly
As it’s up and down as usual,
But I did it anyway,
Force of habit I suppose.

Crest: Up the Mountain

After hours of tumult
Peace finding mind
Returns with metta,
And good wishes flow

Smoothing the disturbance,
Easing the distraught,
Bringing comfort
To the troubled,

Giving instead of taking,
Receiving instead of pushing away,
Filling up the empty space
With warmth and compassion;

The dark season is
On it’s way,
But the light
Is shining anyway,

Summer’s fading into autumn,
But in the coolness
Is tranquility,
In the darkness, serenity;

Soon twill be time
To light the bonfires,
Reap the harvest
And wrap the gifts,

Kindness rekindled
Once more
In its natural home,
The mind;

Wisdom is sure to follow
Even if only
For a short time,
Until the tempest
Re-forms.

Creditable: Not a Mug’s Game

As the black coffee mug
Has broken up,
Demonstrating its impermanence,
I’ve switched to another,

But I’ve always
Used this one for tea,
And so I keep thinking
It contains tea.

How odd to keep expecting tea
And tasting coffee;
From whence did this idea arise,
And why can’t I abandon it?

Perhaps this is merely
A form of grasping;
I certainly feel
Some irritation or aversion here.

It seems
Somewhat ridiculous,
For isn’t a mug
Just a mug?

And the alternate one’s better too,
As it more easily holds
The desired volume of water,
Thus reducing the risk of spills;

But still,
I miss the old one,
And surely this is
A kind of stickiness,

Only a little suffering,
But it all adds up,
Yet also a good opportunity
To apply a kindly nonjudgmental attitude
To the study of clinging.