I’ve tried throwing plates
burning photos in bonfire
climbing top a hill and screaming
but as soon as one plate cracked,
one spark singed,
one yell cried
the sadness swept over me.
root of this anger will not be ignored.
no need to lash,
since there is always more depth
I’ve spent my days lashing and
trashing and boiling
I had to dig under that volcano
to find the source of the lava –
heating it underground
was all my hurt
dukkha, buddha said, is the root.
I studied and I knew
but until I woke up
the dukkha in me
would I begin to be free.
loving it, like my child
acknowledging, easing, holding –
holding my dukkha close to my heart
so close it wrenched until
my heart broke open
allowing that hurt in, but also love in
and she – my heart – told me
to cease my dukkha is by ceasing all dukkha
never causing pain to another