Childhood memories of a warm, safe bed
These are the ways I dull my own head.
Biscuits and crosswords and worldly things,
These are the ways I clip my own wings.
Hating and habits and pink ice creams,
These are the ways I cling to my dreams,
When Dharma starts to stir and flow
And with bleary eyes I see and know
And realise just how hard it will be
To beat that path, which sets us free,
And I cling to the blanket and dig in deep
And refuse to commit to what’s hard to keep
And resist, and rage, and scream, and shout
And fear I’ll never find strength to break out.
But that anger is energy, a vajra bolt
That’s sent to shake me awake with a jolt
So I will not hide from the truth for long
I’ll resonate with it like a hard-struck gong,
I’ll feel that cold wind, see the stars up above
And fill one more day with my stubborn love.