This world is full of sorrow, and mine is surreal.
There’s no one to support me in my time of need
Of a proper solution to my tangled mess.
Had I someone to talk to I’d freely confess
That I am rather hopeless. My case I would plead,
But I am so ashamed of the way that I feel.
Meditation eludes me. My life’s twists and turns
Make me fearful and anxious. My letting it be
Seems to make it grow bigger. Darkness has a grip
On my soul, of which I claim complete ownership.
If I don’t find an answer that satisfies me,
Then I may be an object the devil discerns.
Attention must be focused, when problems arise,
On the fact of their presence, then detach from it.
Examine carefully all the negative talk
That the pain body thrives on. Indeed, it will balk
At the notion of presence and will throw a fit
In defense of disaster with which it allies.
Fear is of a low frequency. It puts the nerves
In the rhythm of panic. While identified
With the thoughts that create it, I am not aware
That I’m safe in the moment and that I must care
That awareness and presence cannot be denied.
It’s a gift that every living creature deserves.
Well immersed in the problem, must I feel the pain
That the body responds to imagined or real?
Fight or flight is the trigger created by thought.
An awakening comes when this moment is caught.
What is real and the story can both make me feel
Much the same, so from drama I’m best to abstain.