Being

I am the cushion

On which the

Present moment sits.

Its weight I can handle,

But when Yesterday and Tomorrow

Add their weight,

I am flattened.

As it goes,

Now is the only weight

That keeps me firm.

Old man sitting in my house,

Consciousness.

Guiding me to God,

Emptiness.

“Let go. Let go,” he said.

Hold on to just being,

Nothingness.

And now we share the same home,

Oneness.

The weight of my meditation cushion

Is the thoughts I bare while sitting.

I float away,

Float away

As mind stuff leaks out

Into the infinite now.