Zazen.

[ACTIVATE SELF]

Suggestion: read uttered under breath in NC Dark(skin)

I was only 15 years old when my father died. He was a charming guy, almond-eyed and full of light.
The calm and kind and always honest type that lived a modest life. Kissed his wife. Farmed and liked
to smoke his bong at night. Provided chai & appetizing bowls of rice. Our home was nice. My only gripes
were over times he'd go for wine to soak his throat and sober mind (invoking ghosts he hoped to hide).

"Zopa, I was only 5 when boats arrived on coastal lines" He'd close his eyes. "...and most of my.....
whole family died, like toasted goats and roasted swine, enclosed inside a holy shrine. I moaned & whined
then choked and cried - the open sky was cloaked in grime - as Chinese soldiers bolted by
and catapulted boulders high like flying coals of molten death igniting homes and scalding flesh
'til only bones and skulls were left of noble folk from Old Tibet that etched the road to Okobek.
Where local sects in togas met & buddhist monks with yogis slept upon the steps that cobras stretched."

He'd slow his breath. then go in-depth. about the throne & strong protest and how it led to thousands dead
or how he fled and found the land of Shangri-La. His anger stopped once he unlocked the ancient box
of elevated train of thought. He'd train a lot. Reframe from drops of alcohol and break the pots.
When days were hot. the shade was not. We made the pond our sacred spot. Then shaped a rock into a block
to meditate and say our 'oms'. My father passed, but did not die. Instead he managed to survive
beyond the tantric hands of time, chronologically devised & romantically inclined to turn the mantis into flies.

Cause transcendent elevation comes from stations that you climb and the greatness you can find
in trading places if you're wise. The enlightenment he reached at his psychedelic peak was like an atrophy to grief
and a practice I believe that I can master gradually, once I'm actually in sync with the natural tapestry.

...and so I sit here. beneath a canopy of trees. As peaceful as a lotus. floating in a stream.
I close my eyes to focus. Control my inner ch'i. By soaking in the moment. and solar energy.
The leaves begin to rustle. from blowing in the breeze. It's lovely and it's subtle. The poetry of Spring.
I'm humble as a bubble. that flows into the Sea. Untroubled like the puddle. along the empty street.
My ego has been muffled. (Emotional relief). Unmuddled and unpuzzled. I'm totally at ease.

...topical battle verse written to the picture...