This appeared today – on the wind like the first swallow.
Looking for Self
Buttocks press on the meditation stool.
Instruction: check posture.
Sensation: slight curvature at base of spine.
Automatic straightening for tension release.
The body lifts and ease follows.
Mind says: ‘this experience is like a still pond,
A surface like glass – reflecting experience.’
Labelling arises: ‘this is model making.’
Now the smooth pool ripples – with words.
Yet another image.
Who is the image-maker? Find him.
He is sensed, somewhere in the background to all this.
But there is nothing to grasp.
When I reach for him with mind – he disperses
like dye in water.
Thought: ‘I could set this down in lines,
like a poem,
but will the poem be any good?’
The self is back – with his desire for acclaim.
Acclaim from where?
From other bundles of self-delusion?
Thought: ‘no wonder there is pain.’
Reach out for the experiencer of pain before it evaporates
But it has gone – vanished when looked for.
Eyelids lift – there is the image of the Buddha.
Reflection: ‘this search was his search.’
Below him sits Green Tara – she gazes back.
Her sympathy comes like the offering of a flower.
I’ve really enjoyed this poem, Harry.
Thanks, Vera. I’d just returned from a retreat and that was my first morning at home. Now comes a steady slide back into the mundane.
This is lovely, Harry, the first for a while, I guess. Your words chimed with my own feelings at the moment. Only one thing I would change, mainly for reasons of grammar and precision: ” looked for.” – why not sought?
Thanks, Viv. If I made that change it would bring a subtle shift of emphasis to a meditation experience – which is what this is. The poem is hardly thought through. I’ll keep my editorial urges off this one and let its freshness be.