I carry the Buddha in my left pants pocket

small token to remind me

I wear my karma on a chain around my neck

tiny albatross that binds me

an ordinary seeker with an uncommon goal

mediocre poet with a window for a soul

a still point centered on a bed of nails

just a primal speck riding on the cosmic snail

a Self wrapped in the personal illusion

 ....

it’s hard to see what really matters

hard to relate to the daily patter

living out a sound bite reality

too often groping needless vanity

too often confusing the debate

in a fucked up conscious state

too much time spent in useless dialogue

 ....

writing down a life that doesn’t rhyme

two steps out of sync with time

sleeping someone else’s dream

drowning in the cosmic stream

instead of following the flow

always unsure of where to go

 ....

it’s in the rare Zen moments

signposts of enlightenment

those fleeting koans of time

that spell out my divine entitlement

where the world comes clearly into view

those moments are too marginal

too precious

too few

 ....

Why do I so often see the Zen moments

in my rear view mirror

instead of in the road ahead?

 ....

2009 by c.m. brooks