Haibun: End, Last
Knowing there’s an end, a last, that death is inevitable; I’m constantly in flux as in what to do with that understanding. I see it in a binary way: I can hold it or let it go? To me, holding it is to distract myself with things I can touch or grab. Letting go, or empty handed, I am free from anything to distract me from my own limits, myself, my mortality.
Because I too, alas, have an end, a last.
But today I spent most of my day with things in my grasp. I worked as if there was no end: brokering wants and expectations, I navigated my ego and others’. Unfortunately, I never once asked myself or others about eternal things such as love or forgiveness, I focused on the immediacy of the task.
So now with my screen in front of me to write I try to type open handed, thinking about a world seen and appreciated without asking a price. That kind of love breaks into the eternal, that kind of love breaks my ego.
flower, last of fall?
reddish, orange ball; none more
thorns pop autumn’s clouds
Because I too, alas, have an end, a last.
But today I spent most of my day with things in my grasp. I worked as if there was no end: brokering wants and expectations, I navigated my ego and others’. Unfortunately, I never once asked myself or others about eternal things such as love or forgiveness, I focused on the immediacy of the task.
So now with my screen in front of me to write I try to type open handed, thinking about a world seen and appreciated without asking a price. That kind of love breaks into the eternal, that kind of love breaks my ego.
flower, last of fall?
reddish, orange ball; none more
thorns pop autumn’s clouds
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| & Haiku: A Last? |
