Bunch: Sticky

All is suffering:
I think I get it,
But then I lose it
Get it again, lose it,
Until I’m fed up.

How long does it take
To finally get it?
The answer is stop clinging
But how do I do that?
It’s the eight-fold path,
Or so I gather.

I put some cream in my coffee,
And listened to some more dharma chatter.
Sometimes I feel it doesn’t matter,
But that is merely the hindrance of doubt (or so I’ve heard).
I’m certainly having a bout of skepticism,
And have run out of witticisms.

As I sip my coffee
I reflect upon what I’ve learned,
And on my regrets.
I can’t seem to forget
The price I’ve paid
To get this far.
The bar is high,
And I could use a bit of help.

When I find my way
I’ll be off again,
And it is my hope that
No loss no gain,
No praise or blame,
No success or failure,
No pleasure or pain,
No fame or disrepute
Will disrupt my route.
I’ve planted the seed,
And now I await the fruit.

Bumpy: Nightlight

Insomnia attack
But freedom came back.
To be with rage and fear
But not disturbed by it
Was exhilarating, liberating,
Like looking at the stars
Laying in the bottom of a rowboat.

The stars are full of heat,
Intense solar winds,
Immense gravitational forces,
Dynamic, chaotic, explosive.
But on a still lake
In the calm of the night,
They are a beautiful sight.

Freedom is in this too,
Every thought, sensation,
And feeling;
There’s nothing to fear
In any of these,
Naught to shrink from,
But only to observe and know,
No need to act on that seen
But just to be.

Always seeing light and dark:
Searching for the glow,
While travelling through the gloom.
When looking for one
Find the other.
Forever free,
Yet sometimes just don’t see it,
But every time seeing it
Only have to be it.

Looking deeply,
Even into misery,
There is freedom there too.

Bumper: Freedom Update

Stumbled out of bed
Looking for freedom.
Peered into the coffee,
Examined the toast,
Played with the oatmeal,
But didn’t find it.

Preparing to go
And somebody phoned.
Animated conversation ensued,
Sweeping away all thoughts of
This freedom, so eagerly sought
Only moments before.

Out the door,
Down the road,
Forgot all day,
Even when dining
With a friend,
And after we parted.

Then to the meditation group,
So preoccupied,
Everything was barely noticed,
Could not maintain any focus,
Misplaced mindfulness,
Moment after moment.

The trip home,
Not even remembered,
Yet somehow arrived,
And then freedom returned,
But what had been learned?
It had been dropped anyway.

It’s difficult to say
What use was made of this day.
Lost and found seems to be the theme,
Over and over passing this way,
But never seem to stay.