Not writing today. Sticking to the new routine but I just felt the need to plop this awkward and very imperfect poem I wrote years ago down here. All is well!
Fragile
How fragile this cup I hold in my two hands. I suddenly realize it will not last.
Like all of the surface phenomenon of Life, it will crumble; it will die; it will pass.
I look down at these hands, wrinkled with passing time and see the same
like the cup, this idea of me in its aging form, is just a chip in ego's cruel game.
Nothing lasts. The clock's busy second hand will someday cease its distracting noise
and the magic secrets of past and future will be revealed as deceptive ploys.
Bodies will die, yours and mine. The things we cling to will rust , decay and get lost.
Our desire to win a game or two as ego deals, will always come at cost.
The continuous flux of worldly things will surely turn to rubble and bury us alive
but if you find your little self choking on the dust beneath the debris, fighting to survive...
Stop for a second, quiet your mind and listen . Be still. Allow the door of truth to open.
Through just a crack you will see the absolute reality when the true seer has awoken.
There is something there that is not fragile, that is permanent, real, remaining as it is.
This timeless awareness of who you are will show you there is so much more than 'this'.
From that place of knowing just watch the insignificant pass and enjoy the changing scenery.
Learn to breathe, learn to smile, learn to love and learn to simply be.
Dale-Lyn Dec 2018
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