ALONE ON RETREAT
I'm useless at last. No one to give ear or advice to but myself --
muttering in the long exhalation of my world. Scholars may call it
'realization,' but they don't hang out in the jaws of sacrifice: being
real HURTS. And can I be that pure, that giving? No answer .
. . only to let blow to cessation the god who shapes me, whose breath is
the belief in mind's play; whose jealous roving sires creation . . . and
defence . . . and denial. His is the world's conceiving. Mind heaves, so
possessed by dim hallucinations that I get dreamed -- in
dreams that fall as they arise.
But here, presence hovers, and strange joy: aspiration's angels. And
beyond them, the flightless, groundless patience to melt down clearly --
like snow beneath the blazing skies.
Ajahn Sucitto
Bodhinyanarama
June 1996
Photo - Hale-Bopp Mar. 14/97 A. Dimai & D. Ghirardo (Col Druscie Observatory, Italy)