A Muddy Mess

1/25/24 – 3:26am

Rain patters on the glass of my windows,
and I sit silent in the still of the night.
I long to sit in the cold rain outside.
I want to splash in the puddles and
Render my clothes a muddy mess.

Mindful media at hand, the Dalai Lama's
Book on Seeing Yourself as you Really Are,
Big ideas within such small pages:
My mind stuck in this material brain.

Nothing seems to hold my attention.
Writing, reading, gaming, blogging.
Back and forth I flit from outlets
Staged to steady my mind on stillness,
None drawing my focus longer than a minute.

Old habits await my mind's stalling,
Chemical dependencies crawling at my mouth,
But I sit them out, patiently waiting for
Something- anything- else to fill my time.
One minute at a time, as they say.

I long to make something beautiful,
Something to be adored and appreciated.
Everything I touch seems to fall mundane
and unworthy of anyone's notice
but my own tired self.

Physical silence permeates the air around me,
but the internal noise rattles as loudly as ever.
How can I subdue the raucous shaking of my
Never ending thoughts and trivial stories?

Meditation is the key, but that draws a hesitation,
An unwelcome resistance as if I'd fail at that too.
A feeling that I would just make a muddy mess.