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--

today.

KB © 7/4/2013