Discerning: Seeing This

Fibromyalgia attack!
Reframing pain as energy,
Dancing with the fire,
Absorbing the flames
And breathing them back out;

Hey, could this be
The source of the story
About
The Buddha breathing fire?

Maybe not
But it makes me laugh
And that feels good,
Cooling the burning.

Let it burn!
Or so I’ve heard
But I’d rather transform it
Into something wonderful

And can I do that?
At least partly.
Could it be that simple?
What if it is?

That would be beautiful
To just see it as light
And banish the dark
To wherever it came from,

I did it before
And I’m doing it again
And that’s okay
For as long as it lasts;

I only need see this,
That all is well
But getting to see this,
That’s the skill.

Discernible: What’s Happening Here

Sitting with experience,
Drinking in the peace,
Consumed by the feast,
Fast gliding through the here,

Like being wrapped in soft blankets
On a cold winter’s night
Or drying off with a hot towel
After a cool swim;

And just thinking of ease
Makes it easy again,
Recalling joy
Brings on a bliss cascade,

Enjoying the memory
In the moment,
Working the mind magic,
Then sleepiness sets in,

Looking from inside
This new state,
Back to examining
What it’s like.

Hmm, what’s this?
Tension building;
Where did that come from?
Oh well, it’s here,

Can I be okay with that?
But even if I can’t
That’s all right,
Nothing to worry about;

I’ve only to watch
And see what happens next,
It’s surprisingly exciting
Just exploring this.

Disappearance: Here and Not Here

February thirteenth,
Such an odd number;
Day before Valentine’s,
How appropriate;

Some people give and receive cards and gifts,
And pair up for romantic encounters;
Others pine about being on their own
And then there are those who ignore it all together.

But this poetic discourse
Is but alphabet soup:
It cannot exist
In your absence,

For then how
Could there be
Any relationship or dialogue
Upon which to base the meaning?

Without interchange
There is no sense
But even with all the talk
That’s ever been

There is no final word.
But still if all the words
Should come to an end
There would be no conclusion.

What if the dialogue itself
Is the message?
If so, no need to look between the lines
As the lines are also it;

But this too could be just foolishness;
As soon as you believe in it, it becomes meaningless,
As is every word before and after;
And then there’s nothing left to do
But shake with laughter.