The house is scattered with silence,
a passing of air that used to be my comfort,
now fails me.
This feeling chases me,
the sense of loss
and incompletion,
and I've no where to run;
no distraction strong enough.
I read from The Way of the Bodhisattva
and feel like a charlatan
questioning faith and existence
living in a veritable limbo.
A line strikes me across the face:
"All of us willing to move beyond
our self-importance and find ways
to care for each other are considered
the Buddha's heirs."
I weep.
Everything I've forgotten wells up
in the heart like a panic.
I sit on the floor
with a lion's heart
and monkey mind
feet together
noticing how old they look,
worn and wise, hands
not far behind.
The late sun falls in squares
on the faded carpet, my love's
shirt flutters in a breeze
as I sit with the demons
I've run from and contemplate
how to make it out alive
and full of heart.
Aleathia Drehmer 2016
