The Reflection Pool

As I played Solitaire for the 157th time,
I began to wonder if this isn’t
how meditation masters feel, finding
small comforts in the repetition of
movements.

Shuffle     Shuffle     Shuffle
count     1 2 3 4 5 6 7, 1 2 3 4 5 6, 1 2 3 4 5,
1 2 3 4, 1 2 3, 1 2 , 1
Black 7 on top of red 8 on top of black
9     Ace of spades above

count     1   2   3            nothing
count     1   2   3            nothing
count     1   2   3            red 6 on top of black 7
count     1   2   3            2 of spades     black 10
on top of red jack

over and over          until     no moves
are left to be made

Shuffle     Shuffle     Shuffle

is that like sitting on the cushion for the
157 time?      Breathe in     breathe out

thinking

breathe in          breathe out

thinking

Repeating until you get past needing
to control  the emotions of
thinking and feeling

Each master just there through it all
Shuffle     Shuffle     Shuffle
Breathe in     Breathe out

And then do they get up from
their work and go about their
day the best they can until
they each get to return to
their seats, the turmoil of
their lives, and find a few
moments of comfort again?
Do they?

I sleep each night with
the light beside my bed
on, so fearful of that
velvet curtain and what
it may bring.

I walk though in the dark
hearing the cries of
souls lost, searching for
their own places in this
harsh world of human
desires and jealousies.

This one of mine, possess
it I may not, sails the airs
wailing for my place and
my gifts before the flesh
has rotted from our
human forms and our
souls stay lost forever.

Step lively on this eve,
this night of all souls.
The fate of the stars
cannot be undone and
still I search, still I wait.

 
 Knees soiled, cold, and wet
 arms outstretched in front of me

 my forehead has a red patch on it
           centered
 I wait
           prostrate
 I wait
           repeatedly
 cold, wet knees, bruised
 I wait
 and still you elude
 every hole I try to stick you in
 square pegs through round holes
 dinner stuck between my teeth
 simple diets of lessons
 in living, waiting, breathing
 prostration
 waiting
 mourning  the life of past
           - wild - thoughtless - cold
           -never quiet - always
           moving - quick

 past lives mirror the 
 heroics of red wheel barrows
 and dead decaying leaves
 fallen
      lifeless
                winter's long underwear
      spring's light coat
 waiting for a new beginning
 that new life     promised by you
 but it doesn't feel new
 its soggy
           unexciting
                     heavy
 on shoulders and 
 wears out my bending back
 its not the world but it feels like it is
 is it?
 rather than an answer
           verbal
                     obvious
 the weight sets heavier
 on my shoulders
 hints given
                hints taken

 I wait
           unchanging
 I wait
           unremitting (ceaseless)
 bracing my back palms flat
 caloused and rough
                          prostration
 not cowardness     not hiding
 none of these things
 but it looks like it
 seeing me a child's pose
 in a pile on the floor
 withdrawn
           but breathing
 long in
           long out
 not wanting
           not willing
                     waiting
           sustained
                     waiting
           ceaseles

 ceaseless