There is chaos, there’s order.
On the edge, on the border.
The ragged edge of disaster.
Of this place I am the master,
And the slave all at once.
Threats arrive from all fronts.
It would be nice to be content!
On this a moment I lament . . .
What is happy, what is true?
What is this I’ve come unto?
Life where pain is a constant.
This is not what I wanted.
It’s what I got anyway.
Lugging burdens every day.
This is how I spend my time.
Yet it seems I’m doing fine.
The heaviness of yesterday,
Is lighter now, what can I say?
These trials have made me stronger.
I persevere for much longer.
Greater burdens are in store.
These new ones will weigh much more.
Shoulder them as I will.
Suffering will be distilled.
Think again about that joy,
As this pain keeps me employed.
What is happy what is true?
What is this I’ve come unto?
Not my body – it’s ever breaking.
Not my feelings – always forsaken.
It’s a mind and how it deals,
And as it deals what that reveals.
About a self, about this world,
About the hurt to be impearled.
Arbiter of pain and bliss?
Contemplate the truth of this.
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