Effortless saints

Quartered by thoughts,

seduced by the exquisites of perception,

comparisons stampede into each other

as the mind idles at full speed,

looking to grab substantive meaning

out of the triviality that flows.

There is a quivering of beings

as the mind flutters

and feelings provide a starry-eyed backdrop

to the nervous system gone adrenal.

There is a bounty search unspoken

In search of love.

There are quakes of tears

waiting quietly to be released

as a rhythmical process of fluids

carrying a chemical message of love.

It is a meltdown hunger privately

without the loss of composure.

Claims are made by mood,

much less accounted for by voice.

Spontaneity idles in a permission closet

away from being initiated or rekindled.

Bundled attention skills

still seek out the task of adoring.

Separate identity is fighting for its source.

Life support nibbles away meagerly

for not so easily is this a journey

to the blend . . . the meld . . . the one.

There are many times

we feel like

we are only hairballs of awareness,

a weave of hollow stare looking back,

a hot breath holding an unlit candle

wishing for a meltdown

as a wax dripping situation.

There is this firm grip of posed relaxation

as each nostril is dedicated

to faint breath distraction.

Yet there is something

that is spiritual but is too large.

Some how there is this flame.

It has an unknown source.

There is a burn called yearning,

ongoing but unacknowledged.

Yet as the burn deepens,

time is discovered

not to be the wick.

Space yields into an intensity dimension.

Life is in the form of replies.

“You tell yourself”

is rhetorical as a inner response.

Each moment gets a deed

along the path of enfoldment.

Each singular occurrence

spends an acknowledgment of breath.

There is the ink of self-surrender.

We signoff from within

yet marvel is this kind of permission:

to love oneself

as an expression of being

offers options.

From within this one approach,

we are all as effortless saints.