autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Pondering the attic (haiku chain)

Mind, the empty room
Filled by the things we think of
Direct attention

Underneath all thought,
Resting, equanimity;
Like a lost treasure

Pebble in silt bed,
A lost shell, now half-buried,
Forgotten by mind

Still and peaceful rest,
The truly natural state;
The world loses track

Culture of demand
Against which, like butterflies,
We buffet ourselves;

Chasing the next dream,
Oh! Elusive happiness!
Just around the bend!

Rushing toward it,
As if not leaving behind
Sweet, fragrant flowers;

Fretful fliers, we,
Dissatisfied with the now,
The beauty that is;

No wonder, often,
Octogenarian cry,
“If I only knew!”

So, remembering,
Sitting in silence tonight,
I find that I smile.