Zen for Breakfast

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Morning declares itself with a triumphant blinding glare
That fills my room and declares
“Rise, fool!”
“I wait for no one!”
I struggle briefly to untangle myself from the cacoon of blankets
That threaten to submerge me
Then with three deep breaths
Lift myself
And stumble upwards
Being careful to not fall
And loosely remake what will later today
Envelop me with solace

Blurred eyes are washed with cold water drawn from an icy depth
To reveal a man I hardly recognize
The years
Though kind, or kindly at least
Disguise the man that lives within this vessel of flesh and blood and bone
But can not hide
A pause with closed eyes then open
The Looker sees
The Light revealed
Is younger now than yesterday
Tomorrow younger still
Though the form that holds it moves faithlessly ever forward

The kettles scream, silenced long ago to a whimper
Announces the progression of space and time
A clock of sorts
That tracks the morning
That becomes the rich black syrup that warms and awakens
And prepares me for the day
I sit and wonder
Elate and somber
What infinite wisdom could make me so
The timeless Light that lives within
The suit of flesh that ever changes
And the coffee that fuels those thought
Consumed by both
Reminds me
They are One

 

as published in Elephant Journal

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