Every moment is bundled
with a multitude of beginnings
and endings and we feel we’re right
in the middle of it.
But this locale, this fixation
is penciled in with a wink
and cannot be held, numbered
ordered, kept or used.
Gathered up, possessions
summon the negations, come
then clap, the knowns disperse
like startled pigeons.
Who can make way in all of this
without faith or handholds
when enlightenment is the activity
of no one in particular?
A tricky business
this name-dropping the Buddha.
davidbruceblog #2 