The eternal rhythm is cyclical: Tension and relaxation; ebb and flow; Inhalation and exhalation Form but one cycle, Repeated for all eternity The eternal impermanence Reveals itself at the apex of the cycle: That to have you must let go Of one breath to take in the next one And one day, you will let go of it For the last time, but for now This life-giving breath is śamaṭha (शमठ): a focal point to counter The chaos of thoughts and feelings And the eternal balance forever Threatens to topple the rhythm Should desire overcome discipline

But to lay down this burden Carried for so long and far Of a mind driven to perform At ever increasing pace In a race to survive Of the innumerable swarm of Distorted impulses signalled From within and without Troubling that mind Agitating, fragmenting, And compressing it Mocking its complex, fragile Sense of personal identity That must be kept in order With the most anxious attention And a complexity of Thoughts, words, and actions

To follow steely eyed determination While fearfully rejecting all change is To drift along on the winds of change Because all is at risk in each choice And only risk is guaranteed And to risk none is to risk all In the deceptive arms of comfort For the moment the decision falls It is the necessary path of life But those with courage and faith Take up decisions and make Minor adjustments Of water, wind, and weight

All reality is deception Feelings and characterisations The citta sańkhāra (चित्त संस्कार) The fabrications of perception And neither this persuasive truth Nor the opinions of others Can truthfully be trusted at all And to see through the design is to Direct its flow and guide its effect To see the pattern is to not Be deceived by the deception To not struggle towards an Imaginary truth, lost in the folds Of complex philosophies When instead, it is to be found Right at the heart of deception

For it is well known that Those who succeed, Expect success And those who fail Fear failure The habitually fearful Have moments of hope The habitually hopeful Have moments of fear

For these objects that Pull you asunder with Promises of wealth and wonder That you, weary traveller, Gladly accept, in bargain Forgoing possibilities Richer and vaster Because you doubtfully And half-heartedly pursue Things in all their lustre Without stopping once to ask Why they muster so many With their pomp and bluster

Even at your best and noblest You want to get to something To health, to revelation, to divinity And this getting to gets you nowhere As you try, you prevent For consciousness centred in the ego Tends to subjugate and dominate All that roams freely and is Not bound its rules of reason But to freely explore possibilities Is to welcome all that is irrational To not try to direct their flow but Anticipate their pleasant surprises To receive their message And let them go

For in these eras of Truth and Objectivity Actions need no longer be guided by Definite purpose or values And need only be limited By the rules of rationality, Justification and sentiment Of subtle insouciance, Cleverly calibrated But to leave this fear, Self-satisfaction, self-pity, And competitiveness behind Is to once again nurture the Sensitive current of feeling and Allow it to permeate our being Transforming it back into that Indispensable organ of knowledge

To not risk the pain Is to risk it all in the Deceptive arms of comfort For its seductive illusion Masks the pain of awareness This pain is you A reflection of your Own naked vulnerability This pain reveals The uncertainty within For the world reflects your Uncertainty back at you This pain reveals The frustration within The loneliness and sadness Of your longing to share

Tendencies, tendens, is a Stretching to, towards, but Back to well-known things And like a spoilt child Knows only when it is Satisfied or crossed Much experienced habit Habituates the mind and Catalyses the actions that follow Like wine that permeates The wood of its cask Habit treacles through The deep structures of Unchangeable personality And personal identity

Beyond which logic cannot go Things half-seen and half-heard so In expression, complexion, inflection Tone, colour, shape, and other Feeling textures that arrive whole Unlike the myriad little steps of Well-ordered reasoning Like a seed that germinates When conditions are ripe To recognise the pattern in the Noble proportions given to senses

Me, a thing-with-features In the world of things-with-features Learn to see myself as I’m seen To mould myself to the aspirations Of family, church, and community To preserve this precis of myself with Its roster of injunctions to obey To constantly prove to myself And anyone who will listen That I am what I intend to be Now mortified that a vital fragment Of myself has been stripped away in A little death, a moment of unreality That this amazing technicolour Dreamcoat worn with pride Was cut for someone of a Different size, shape, and stride