All my life, false and real
Always tangled like seaweed
Prostrate on the sand
Love and attachment,
Always pushing away
and drawing near—
Always wanting to be
held fast, to be claimed
somehow, but always
pushed out the door again.
Many years wasted seeing
myself as half a person
living half a life—
This Autumn I suddenly realize,
When I am not,
I am whole,
I am the mountain.
Leave a Reply