Meditate on This

Sitting in my scivvies, cross legged, on floor—

Actually I now have to do so in bed

Hips, limbs, bones couldn’t take it anymore—

I strive to love all the world, dedicated

self to become SELF, in spirit be POOR,

To WANTS of the material world dead.

Yet the gnaw that  I am missing the point

Gets my nose (as well as hips), out of joint.

The difficulty itself is with life.

You can’t think it to be a certain way.

It dishes up joys, struggles, love, strife

In unequal portions that there’s some days

You feel like a one bullet Barney Fife

Ill equipped to set your weapon ablaze.

But by sitting still and meditating 

At least you can stop self-medicating.

The other point well worth realizing 

Is that meditation is just a part

Of past guide’s’ efforts idealizing 

Selflessness, Nirvana, this world depart.

To me, that’s just too much theorizing. 

Spirit gives the material its heart.

Our job is to love the world, in it strive

For perfect union with all that’s alive.



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©2020 by The Unknown Poet.