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Pieces of suffering


Be your suffering,
Hold it in your hands,
Feel it – smooth, clay, porcelain,
Feel the enclave
Of its cheek-bones,
The protrusion of its lips,
Search its detail, its intricacy,
With the intention
Of wisdom,
Of acceptance,
Of acute subtle awareness.


Watch it as it changes,
Melts, dissolves,
Falls to pieces in your hands,
No longer defined, definable.


No longer "me”
And “my suffering,”
Just suffering,
Coming and going,
Passing through,
Coinciding with the self.


This way and that,
Time and time again,
Nothing unique,
Nothing personal,
Just the mind
Clinging to an idea of itself.
Pieces of clay,
Pieces of suffering,
Fragments of change,
Resting in my hands,
Ready to become anything...


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