Criterion: ‘What’s This?’

Stacking my three cushions
In the usual way,
And setting the timer
For twenty minutes,

I sat the body down
And assumed my customary posture,
Aiming for stability
And attentiveness.

‘What shall I do this time?’
‘What’s this?’ Came the unexpected reply,
And my attention turned
Towards what was happening in the body.

‘What’s this?’
The label-thought arose spontaneously,
And then gazing towards that thought,
‘What’s this?’ I inquired.

Then it occurred to me to
Turn towards the turning towards
And labeling and noticing process,
And ask ‘What’s this?’

Who knew that such bliss
Could arise from simply asking, ‘What’s this?’
And then, looking towards that bliss,
‘What’s this?’

A sense of flow arose too,
‘Flow? What’s this?’
The bliss turned into rapture,
‘Rapture? What’s this?’

The bell sounded, but the enjoyment of
‘What’s this?’ persisted all evening;
Such relaxation! Such ease!
Has not been felt in these parts
For many a day!

Crisp: Housecleaning

Steeped in brooding,
Deeply despondent
And loathing everything,
Pushing away from the nightmare,

Trying to break through
The heaviness,
But only sinking even further
Into listlessness;

Concluding, ‘Oh, the futility of even trying,
As the gloom goes on to the horizon;’
These moods, these dark attitudes,
As thick as the cloud bank zooming past

That from my window
I viewed with dismay, thinking,
‘Oh, woe! How will I ever
Be able to get through this?’

Then suddenly
It occurred to me,
‘But these same clouds
Inhabit the sky.’

All words and thoughts fled
As if swept away by the wind,
And the spaciousness inside
Extended in all directions,

And then I saw that my mind too was
As wide as the infinite sky!
But then again, I saw the despair,
That it was still there, oh yes!

And so were the clouds,
But they no longer seemed
Separated from the blue,
I could now see how these two exist:
Intermingled and yet distinct.

Crevice: Looking Up from the Depths

Five minutes to go
Before off to work again,
Until then
I have to write fast,

Today the emotions flashed,
And a few insights passed by
My roving inner eye,
With no particular results,

But for what results am I looking?
Don’t think I’ll find them here,
But not sure where else to search;
Feeling for all the seekers,

Wish I could spare them
All that grief,
If I only had the means,
But I don’t think I have that either;

Is this compassion?
Perhaps,
Or simply some sort of longing
I cannot identify.

Oh well,
I’m running out of time,
Have to go and listen
To more of others’ woes

That’s my job,
To listen
And be there
For those for whom I can be,

And that’s all
I can do for now,
Until some better way
Occurs to me or arises.