Zen

Pasta and peppermint tea night last night, soothing to be sure. Something different today, a quick morning jaunt through ambiguous paradox, a shift in perception, perhaps. The temple looks nice enough Its thick green and brown doors Open and vulnerably inviting Like the entrance to a old forest dwelling Once in, the chanting begins Ancient sutras bellowed in the Memory of the Buddha, stark lessons Given down to mankind in his time of grief and need, the answers we so desperately seek, yet are out of sight. We sit on mats of the darkest blue, backs straight and heads titled forward, our breaths counted in our undisciplined minds, struggling “Let go of the five Skandhas! There is no separate YOU You are empty, void of everything, nothing. And yet you are the entire Universe!”, he put forth afterwards, imploring us to JUST SIT and count our breaths. I’m hungry, is what I am And my legs hurt like a ***** The Zen teacher didn’t like me I didn’t care though I’ve already read Everything he said In plenty of dog-eared books