The Motions of Zen

I pass through the threshold of
A barren field of mind, void
Of recollection or meaning,
I linger in chill expanse, free
From the burden of memory.

I carve faces into the screens
Behind my eyes, shut, searching
For recognizable patterns that
Will explain the direction in which
I’m going, with absent mind.

I charge into the world of real,
With fists and clenched jaw,
Determined to do the work of many,
As one does nothing at all,
I beg to see the light, if only.


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