240130 - The Fruits of Practice

An all too familiar feeling has been growing in my chest. Slowly, it takes over. 6 days I spent absorbed in contemplation, in what’s considered the noble attempt to stop wandering. 3 days later, I feel like I’m back to where I started, that deep hole my life seems to revolve around. It’s gravity mystifies me. Passion is now burning, anger at that which cannot be gotten rid off. I did not ask for this. Birth was not a prayer answered but a curse whispered from her lips.

“May you be alive. May the passions burn until the day you die, and may them find another expression then.”

Is happiness yet another word? There are moments, glimpses, when I can appreciate beauty. When I still myself, and I need nothing else. But to call them rare would be a denial of their preciousness. There are moments, sure. I can’t say that they’re enough to know what it means. 6 days I spent. The minutes of calm I can count on my two hands. It’s all tomorrow. Always tomorrow. Yet today stays begrudingly the same. I did not ask, I do not want. It’s a weight my shoulders are caving to bear; I don’t know how much more I can take. My senses, feelings, actions; they all betray the same. Here I find myself, again, running. I know it’s pointless. But the aching, the pain. To bear it all; to look suffering in the eye!? The strength of such a man, the patience in his heart; to him I bow a thousand times, I give my body, mind, my all.