autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Attachment and Aversion (haiku chain)

Central to Buddhist tradition and thought is the notion that all suffering is caused by either an attachment or an aversion. This bit of contemplation is the centerpiece of my evening practice as it seems there is a pattern emerging in one of my relations that is trending rather heavily into the unhelpful on several levels; it seems wise to consider my obligations (if any) and determine if/how/when to withdraw myself.

I have decided to complete tonight’s Vipassana and set  decision making aside until I can have a sense of certainty in relation to intent and motivation. My initial conclusion is simply to treat it as I would any other thing or thought… I had the experience, it is passing, and that is that. Naturally, there is a significant part of ego that is having a temper tantrum for it. Consider me chuckling somewhat wryly as I convey that, of all the things that may prompt me to action, the pressings of ego are pretty damn low on the list. The real decision rests on much more important things than my ego, but I suspect they’re only important to me (well, frankly, it is demonstrated so, thus the notion that I feel I must consider it is rather laughable, but one does as one must).

I know this pattern. It is entirely likely I shall simply dust my hands of it and leave it be; a crooked smile, a nod, the mantra of “prudentia doctus” intoned as if I haven’t said it so many times. I suppose I should have the grace to blush for having to say it yet again, eh? But perhaps finding my way (finally) to the same conclusion I found and rejected is a lesson learned via eventual outcomes if not in the initial one.

It seems that knowing,
Never such a simple thing,
Is always seen so

Only in hindsight,
The veil of perspective shifts,
Reveals ignorance

Treble hooks in flesh,
Attachment; the wish for joy
Lost, the moment found

Walk one hundred miles
To avoid running just one
Such is aversion

Twin plagues of the mind
Dervish dancing of ego,
“Give me what I need!”

Comply or silence!
Lessons learned in the kitchen
But not truly learned

Mother love is wild
Never passive-aggressive
Blunt and feral pure

Little boy, hiding
Needs but cannot bear to take
Afraid to have it

Sneaks it, like cookies
Plausibly deniable,
“I didn’t do that!”

Sticky little hands,
Hiding behind guilty back,

As if possible
To be so within friendship
Here, the disservice

Not for stolen things
Nor even for the sneaking
But by intention

Friendship, a free thing
Cannot be stolen, taken
But it can shatter

Like crystal on tile
For secrets within secrets
Stubbornly untold

Grubby, sticky hands
And such wide-eyed denials
Given without words

As if, unspoken,
It remains unknown, unseen;
No eye may find it

Action or its lack
Makes the outline either way
The shape, always seen

There is no hiding
From those who pay attention
Those who gift caring

Who bake the cookies
Who giggle for thieving thought
When they are so free

Here, have another!
There is such plenty to spare;
Have all that you like.

This, the pain in it
Stealing what was always free
Then, realizing it

But does that happen?
Or is it much too heavy?
Weighs upon the mind?

Stomach full of theft
Gifting cannot be received
How embarrassing!

But it’s all story;
Only reason it matters
Is that you say so…