What is it this weight
that walks around with me
this heaviness and deep sighing like feet caught in mud,
like a body of treacle trapped in a tin.
what is it
this perceived problem
And why is it that it will be better
when I sleep deeply
or when the sun shines
or next month
or when I camp beside a surging ocean
or when a lover whispers sweet words to me?
what dependency have I cultivated
to desire peace from a place of uncertainty
to desire truth from denial
to desire a future different from the past present moment?
What stress am I suffering between the layers of cell tissue and organ
when I scheme urge cajole fret court and canvas
options solutions and promises
to dramas solely enacted in my own mind?
How deep is this well that I have dug for my self
how high is this mountain that I cannot climb
and how low is this mind that plots ???
can it just Be?
can it be released riven free from self grasp
and encouraged to flutter