The Tantra of Abiding

by Douglas Thornton

Back up the hill
I set in place
The buckled chair
That had fallen
During the storm.
Sometimes people
Cannot see what’s
Wrong and only
Think emotions
Change the outcome.
But why do we
Believe in thoughts?
To fall at night
Doesn’t mean darkness
Will pick you up;
Never-ending
Is soon replaced
By never done;
And when you stand,
Or lie right down
Against the mud,
The fears of cold
And joys of warmth
Are in the sun.

The voice that holds
All those worldly
Concerns doesn’t know
That in this seat
No one’s sitting;
No one has passed
This hilltop since
The storm has gone.
All the bad luck,
And the pity,
Fulfill its heart
But do not lift
It up.

The view
Thus is rarely
Seen but by those
Hoping to find
A place of rest.
Looked down upon
And bemused, light
That shines is not
The light they get.
They are seekers
In a landscape
Continuing
To grow; the spot
Once seen, next comes
The spot unknown,
And so the light
Gets dimmer, space
Ever smaller,
The dimensions
Of the body,
A name to be
Conquered.

The eye
Is one black hole,
Keeping nothing
In, nor holding
On to the world,
But making sure
There is a place
For whatever
Has a center
Because thus fixed,
The seat of all
Things bears no load.

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Douglas Thornton is an English teacher living in France. He has published two books of poetry (The Uninitiated, Woodland Poems) and a collection of prose (Seasons Of Mind) while currently maintaining a website: www.fromapoet.com. You can also connect with him on Instagram @from__a__poet