…love

The true heart, doubting, introspective, self clarifying
with indomitable spirit and unbending integrity
in arduous pursuit of the truth, is searching for what is lost
that which is invaluable, a priceless jewel
confused thoughts, crowded mind, without comprehending
as though deaf and dumb, entirely in the hands of others
an inconceivable way of being existing only in your mind
like trying to sweep away fog or halt a river with outstretched arms
face the fire and lightning, the raging torrents
surging down from the summits
wild, roaring waves, lonely, moaning winds, poisonous mists
mountains stunned into senselessness, rivers frozen with fright
into this maelstrom, into this wild and bitter struggle
battered by heaven, pursued by the hounds of hell itself
you run headlong with love
clutched in one hand and with hope in the other
a gentle breeze is blowing from the south
succumb to these corrupting winds
you have brought on your own downfall
illusory thoughts spin through your mind
standing outside the gates you peer within
penetrating secret depths
the mind is deep as an ocean, a sheer and profound stillness
a transparent mass of boundless emptiness
silver waves, sad musings, a great rising pain
spirits of the past dying ten thousand deaths in their one life
arising and subsiding thoughts falling into fixed views
an ancient dwelling place, a pitfall that buries you alive
just like a fragment from an old coin
dragging you down into the abode of delusory surmise
everything real ceases to exist, a solid piece of emptiness
fixed firmly in the ground, a deep hole of sheer, black silence
deeper than you can even conceive
no longer troubled by afflicting passions
pushing down into the cave of understanding
release your hold on the edge of the precipice
attachment to the past is cut away
soon the cherry blossoms are in flower
and the river is full and flowing
bringing new life to the tender shoots
to scorched buds and shrivelled seeds
once withering in long-parched desert lands
but what happens if the source is not deep or the stream is not long
the trees fall and the wisteria withers, thorny forests arise
as far from the lush ancient groves, as earth is from heaven
with nothing but the sobbing of dead spirits
to break the silence of their world
lying useless and forgotten as an ancient cemetery
cold and no more life within, than last night’s ashes
in the light of a solitary flame, between heaven and earth
each instant contains all time, in all the universe
there is here in the depths of sorrow, love
© Ann Bagnall