The Scent of Freedom

One turns away from this cycle of becoming.
Shaken by the force of habit and longing.
Knowingly- dragging the bones of the 10,000 sufferings.
Why is it that when you get it?
The grasping, clinging, attachment seems so apparent.
Dragon spewing rocks and fire--beginning this courageous battle of the "self" unburdening.

Heroes; generously giving themselves to a journey plagued by doubt.
Knowingly they had to mix the fear with the faith.
Blind once more; resting in the faith of the Pilgrim who broke free 25 centuries ago.
Befriending the sworn enemy of clarity and heart.
No possibility of turning around when the scent of freedom,
Registering the truth of such a fleeting world ,close at hand.

One sits so quietly listening to the flow of sensations and thoughts.
No longer disturbed by doubts or the need to know.
Everything is like water flowing through your palms and fingers.
This deep sense that you have left behind the ferocity of a painful world.
This immunity of the great silence, giving birth to this confidence and delight.

You have made it past the dark shores and the burning buildings.
To a place on that first hill- seeing the fog in the distance and the body of the great mountain.
This simple longing to reach the thin and glorified heights of a promised freedom.

One gently descends into this foggy valley consumed by its own beauty.
Trees with delicate moss, perfect flowers with enchanted bees.
Streams with perfect clarity- nothing out of place.
Recognizing the growing joy, tranquility and happiness.
Completely enthralled by the lightness of being and virtues of concentration.

Suddenly recognizing that one still had a ways to go before reaching the great mountain.
Oh my! Shades of impermanence, twinges of suffering and personality still linger.
Climbing slowly out of the fog of delight.
Coming to a vista- sinking deeply into the knowledge and body of truth.
Kneeling down to drink the tears of last year's realizations.

 Looking up from this pristine Hill, the great mountain is that much closer.
A steep path leading down through rocks and bramble bushes.
Stumbling down through heavy fog ,temporarily hiding the great mountain.
The clear austerity and strenght of one who knows there is no turning around.

One weaves one's way down, down to the bottom of the ravine.
Disenchanted by the sense doors or even the conjured stories and beliefs.
Everything steady-a deep equanimity allows one to climb up through the steepness.
Leaving behind the sleeping world, non-attached in dispassionate steps -one climbs.

 Freeing oneself from the fog -the moon shines on the great mountain.
Lighting up all the corners of one's own mind and heart.
Now your bag is empty; no need for words or even inspiration.
Arriving at the gateless gate.