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
Categories:
skandhas, absence, art,
Form: Free verse