It seems as I drift from intimate
discussion to discussion with strangers and friends, I lose my conviction, my
lust for my forward motion with cravings and taste with every step. As
optimistic as I am, I am now driven in a completely asinine direction. As I
cannot go back, I grip something else, not grim but not white or pure.
Gathering of many cloaks and drawing of curtains, drifting into that quiet
world it does not comfort. Why I am here, what I thought, dreamed, desired or
required does not seem to matter. It is a true adventure when you do not know
where you are going or the requirement of company, closeness or receiving love.
The memories are all fading and what is left is only the items which I can
touch, see and hear nearby me. A small old box, an old scarf worn by a NAZI in
the war given to me by a regretful old man, a repaired cracked favorite vase
which I remember one of my little children knocking over in laughter, it’s
these thing vintage or just memories that are difficult to hold on to. It is
only the thought and this thought is smaller than you imagine, of a pain caused
to three I know, love and cherish that keeps it a thought. I am listening to
a Brahms violin concerto and holding
tightly on to just what is in the room around me.
It's Dukkha and for me to refer back to it again and again as long
as I last a use this link.
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