Tabula Rasa

Each morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most.  --The Buddha

If desire is the author of suffering
then it has written its story on our skins
with knives stolen from the devil's table.
Its hands are sticky with the mess it has
made of us, and the circles we tread 
in the bare dirt of its prison yard 
are deep and endless.

And will we learn to let it go
even as it tears through us
like an engine howling off the tracks
its singular blind headlight holding us
hypnotized, moths in its sway?

We will. 
We do, we learn it daily
as we learn, finally
that some things aren't meant to heal 
and that is all right.
It is all right to leave the wound open
to the sky and to the rain that comes
and washes away desire 
that bastard child of love
which is not love at all.

Letting go is love. 
Opening our eyes is love.

Let us leave the boneyard of desire
walk away from the endless circle 
and move out onto the path
which can barely be seen but yet is there
the path that goes in all directions
and only one direction: toward a single point
which has a single beginning--

KB © 7/4/2013


  1. if letting go is love, then you are so loved
    with eyes wide shut you cannot love yourself
    or anyone
    or me

    the rain doesn't wash away the desire for love,
    for you


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