Why am I so clumsy and gross? All existence is such.
Water always runs down the mountain, but yesterdays drops are long gone, fulfilling functions both exotic and mundane.
Ha! Even the frame is an illusion.
I wrote this on waking early, on the last day of sewing for Jukai. I had plodded along at what seemed to be a reasonable pace. As those who finished early helped those furthest behind, I found myself the last one done. It showed me some snags in my practice. Being last, missing dinner to finish; I was surprised to find a heavy story about myself in the process. Holding on to images, even though briefly was an unsettling experience. "It was supposed to be THIS way, dang it!". It is very comical now, but it shocked me how much weight the "story" had, when I did not even know I had been writing it. In the heat of moment, the practice did not manifest the words that tried to describe it. I will endeavor to be better aware of my own expectations and how they can become hooks.
When it was al done, and I had sat a bit with the experience and my reaction to it, I wrote another poem, before going to sleep that day.
Diving deep, I was taken aback by what I found:
Fear of failure
Feeling separated
feeling unequal
feeling inferior
feeling that I had disappointed others.
Gaining my bearings, the silt settles and the water clears:
I succeeded in every moment
I am one with the Sangha
All being has the original nature
The things that happen to me are not me
This family knows I manifest true nature and that I practice in ernest.
This needless fuss has left me tired and worn out.
How silly.
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