I am not myself
I’ve taken up the tightrope these last few years,
having so little to lose, life and time precious
but the cheapness of my indulgences
showing through, while that high,
tense wire is the only path to the other side.
To grieve, to judge, to mind, to intervene
is to indulge in Illusion. When the mind fasts,
every sentiment and desire, every concept
is a tempting morsel of entrenchment,
intransience, disobedience, bread for the mouth,
wine for the throat of that false entity.
High above the abyss, inching my way
towards whatever beckons from the other side,
I forego as best I might self-perpetuation,
the one exception being to pause continually
and remind myself I am not myself.
O child of God, were you to bear alone salvation
nothing would be possible under its crush.