In My Way

All is transient.

Everything comes and goes, passes away and arises.

The only thing that I can not be rid of, is myself.

In fleeting moments, I let go, and pass outside of mind.

Bliss.

I rush back to the helm, madly. Destroying freedom with my return.

I must be at the wheel, even if only to pretend.

Fear is the captain.

I don't want to miss out, too tightly I grip to navigate the storm.

Though the storm and I are the same.

I prefer to imagine otherwise.

Peace is within, always.

I am aware.

Why must I trip on clumsy feet?

I've tied my own shoes together.

How do I cease without dying? How do I pass away, and let what is go on?

I aim to stand aside, but even that arises out of greed.

Fleeing from pain, chasing away joy.

Yet all of my own intention.

A very serious-seeming game,

But all in jest.

An imaginary being.

Constrained by imaginary chains, disguised as purpose and meaning.

I remain.