compassion begins at home
over the ebb and flow of the unconscious
Day packed with intentions of activity
waylaid by exhaustion's pall and mantra
tired, tired, so tired
Over arms loaded with lavender scented laundry
I see Buddha smiling compassionately from his lotus
a position I have not mirrored in weeks
Daily life folded away into neat squares
I stand under stinging shower spray
then move, naked and dripping, to the altar
with an offering of the last begonia flower
Nag champa incense curls in the air
I bathe myself a moment in the smoke,
bow, and settle bare bottom on the carpet,
spine straight and arms loose
to practice concentration and mindfulness,
samadhi and sati
feather and sledgehammer duel
feather rises as sledgehammer falls
consciousness floats
takes wing
dives
rises again
bobbing on the river of metta
One-pointed and aware
I ease into a new mantra
may I be free from exhaustion
may I be free from frustration
may I be fulfilled in my work
may I be blessed with good health
praticing compassion where it does the most good
on myself, on myself
How can I hope to achieve for others
what I cannot achieve for myself?
The greatest act of selflessness
is mindfulness of self
metta, metta, metta
compassion begins at home
Labels: compassion, metta, poem, poetry, river, sensual immediacy
1 Comments:
I like following the path of a drop of water. Through air, earth, and life, only this is constant. :)
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