I am a fool. Yes, an idiot. I know nothing. I lay on my back looking up at the vast spread of the cosmos, astonished at the audacity of thinking I have anything to say at all.
I overthink everything. My every unoccupied moment simmers with anxiety and rumination until my mind pops open like a milkweed pod. Thoughts fluff out into the wind and float away. Watch them drift in the air against the stark blue of the sky. Free. The pod dries in the sun and curls up like a smile.
I overfeel everything. I believe in the chimera. While cities burn around me, I weep over a crumbled sandcastle. Silly of me, to be so undone by emotion, seeing tragedy and triumph in a spider’s web. However quiet the gnat’s buzz may sound to others, it is thunder when it is in your own ear.
Let go of dilemma’s horns, stop battling to no victory, talking to no purpose, grasping at snakes and phantoms, cringing from the mirage.
Another book slides off the assembly line to drift down into the accumulation like leaves in an October forest. Oh, look, there’s a pretty one! And another and another, becoming buried to slowly decompose into humus. It’s deep and soft where I pitch my tent and spread my sleeping bag, zipped up snug within the gathering gloom. The bard owl silently descends to a branch above, curious, and after critical examination, concludes, “FUBAR.”
“Wise bird,” I murmur as I fade away.
[Author’s note: “Samsara” does not translate as “weeping into my beer because my books aren’t on the NYT bestsellers’ list and have not been nominated for a Hugo.” Granted, that’s a part of it, given the profound importance my writing has to my sense of personal identity. But it is only one river flowing into an ocean of dukkha.
I am currently dealing with a personal situation that confounds all my coping strategies. Intellectually I know that all things change, that nothing is permanent, nothing and no one can be depended on. But anxiety is not a rational thing. Fear is difficult to reason with. I make a firm resolve to pull myself out of this morass, and recover some of my inner control and optimism, only to have the toxic situation I’m in corrode my resolve away like acid.
Well, you say, get out of that situation then. Right?
It’s complicated. Too complicated. Impossible choices, insoluble problems, unanswerable questions. It is defeating me.]