The birds wing on a chill swift wind,
I spend the weekend running away from myself.
How can I be a sanctuary when I cannot abide my own inner home.
I eat dinner with children, one tells me I have a great energy, a great spirit.
I can see that I do.
So then why am I here wishing my life away.
In the morning I go to a place that is ethereal
hoping to find some hidden message in decaying heaps of gravel.
Hoping to find beauty in the stark lighted edges, and the multicolored rocks and the green waves as they crash on the shore.
I pray to the god of fire,
And blow and blow
My inner fire burns so bright
why do I not warm my own self by it?
Why am I upset when others want to quit
when I do not want to be there either.
I have a great spirit.
I have not learnt to find refuge.
And there it is, in the middle of the night
Learning to value the sleepless hours
it occurs to me
To take refuge in the dharma
to take refuge in myself
I wake unable to find words to express.
I am utterly turned inside out.
I watch as the birds dance on the chill wind