Attention.

[Guest guest]

I have my Attention.

Looking like this, bleeds me out,

and cuts my ribs

that they be displayed to be seen.

Not an idle pastime this,

no game worth playing but this.

Just watching how the cards fall,

and losing all

but attending to being.

 

Being watched by the one who sees,

I notice the head games

and the weak knees

of this fallacious thing I claim as I.

The untimely reactions,

and the expansion and contraction

of a feel-felt rise and falling of this -

my crooked way of it.

I need no umpire to rule me in nor out,

but observe the transient play

of emotional gain and loss

and give this to away.

 

Nothing to do

but attend to business as usual.

Watching my calling cards,

my ‘wish you were here’s’

my hate mail.

Just Attending to self and

not wading hip deep in identity,

but skimming lightly

over my duck pond

like a dragon fly

focused upon its prey.

No strife.

Not eating anything,

not buying anything,

but this notice I serve

upon this, my wayward life.

 

I have my Attention,

and so can attend to the net of the world,

and clean one fish at a time.

Mindful of the silver scales

and the entrails

and making no bones of the difference.

I observe this breathing heart

as it draws together and releases

the seamless garment, the rags and creases

that only more Attention irons out.

I have gone walk about

within this made to measure plane

of quick elation and quicker pain,

and see nothing there

but what I see.

The reflected image

of a watchful me.

 

 

love

 

eric

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright 2002. Eric Ashford.