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There’s a bizarre pleasure
To the depressive illusion
I want both to be free of it
And also cover my head
shunning the light of day

My body feels stiff, rigid
I want to elongate myself
Pulling, cracking, arching
But the end feels closer
The smaller I become

Aummmmm
Nam Myoho Renge Kyo
Namaste

It isn’t working.
The body is strong
The mind and heart
They are so weak
Resentful of its being
A dichotomy of feelings

AummmmmmmMMMMMMMMM
Among the pillows
I scream it out
Croaking, raspy.
My ears crave
The piercing of
My Own Voice


NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO
The pressure builds
My head buzzes as
resonating repetition
Rips through my consciousness
The body is bored of the effort
Just stop

NAMASTE
It’s time to get up
The end is a long way off

Reach.
Breathe.
Deeper.
That’s it.

Hold.
Breathe.
Deeper.
That’s right.

Feel that?
You like that,
Don’t you.
That feels…
Good.

It’s not comfortable
It’s not pain
It is life.
Some days the memories creep up on me, and the body says, let go, start over. This story is just getting good, you’ll see.
Arataikii Jul 2014
crops on the badlands
I do not yield

hot, pressed fingers
no diminishing resolve
and yet curiosity prevails

the mist in the morning
the sigh at dusk

it wins out against all thought
nam myoho renge kyo
*Nam Myoho Renge Kyo is the lotus chant
My way of saying I can accept what is coming.
Lighting the candle she then raises the veil and reveals
to her inner self, the most candid reflection of she ;

Her innate behavior
turns her into a experienced Mantra Queen !
Wrapping her body with calm from within  
she learns the exquisite science of a soft caress.
With subtle gentle intent she lands on a hillock
of freshened breath.
Inhaling exhaling with each acquired breath
the fibrous moments of her sedentary life turn into  
a journey of healing and blessed quietude.
Each tellurian thought disperses into beauty rest,  
Namu Myoho Renge Kyo   "Glory to the Dharma of the Lotus Sutra"
One breath turns into another as she enters
Wakayama, "the treasure trove of untouched nature"
She closes her eyes and enters the Japanese garden of her dreams
the one that persists on appearing behind closed eyelids
long after the trespass of yesterday's travail.
Blowing out the candle, she sits in the dark
listening to a long mahogany silence.
There is a light at the window and it beckons her
so she follows the trail to the garden like a blind woman
being solely led by the scent of Sakura, on a warm gauzy night.
Her Yukata kimono ***** in the wind as she enters this seasonal March
Lost in a paradise of cherry blossoms,
in a Seijaku moment that begs to be treasured.
Here beyond reality,
she experiences devotedly through her Yata mirror,  
all that is to be assimilated
with reverential catalyst mystique.

The End.

— The End —