Calmness

Calmness

Is not something I seek,

Chase or hold

Or wish to acquire

Through brisk minutes of breathing

In induced labour

I have tried

and failed

to buy it

from a guru

and the promises of

nimble, able hands

or from the fiery contents

of a bottle

Nor is it something

Begotten

Of a response

To a scathing remark

And then

 having shown them

how extraordinary

my perceived achievements

pretend to make me

Perhaps

I could know

how to wear it

Through regressive insights

Yes?

Nay,

However that may

Take me through the storm

And to the eye?

I walk through it all.

It’s necessary.

As the delusion of calmness

Clouds my mind

And asks for more

While chasing after

restless squirrels

In a viscous park.

The balls of fur,
prying thoughts

Scramble up and down

The mulberry trees

Looking, seeking

With cautious eyes

Tasting, picking

And stashing away

The bitter with the sweet

To sort and consume later

When it’s dark and cold.

Would it come by

If I were to stop

And sit by the pond

On a bench

And watch them all

-Balls of fur

And furious movement?-

They would continue

In their effort

To chase, stash and save

And bear upon the onlooker

An imprint

Of  motion

In peripheral calmness

Perhaps I’m there

Perhaps not.

Can I define it

If I’m walking through it?

Can I find it

If I’m not seeking it?

Can I experience

Without knowing it?

Or is it possible

to touch it

Like the dew

On a morning blossom

Or the hue

Of a ripening cherry

On a tree before its autumn

And then let go

For the feeling to sail

In and out

With my breath

Over and over again

Through the cold and the dark

onto the sunny warmth of Spring?

I’m ponderous

And yet,

I do not wish to seek,

Chase or hold

Calmness or thought

I think I will,

For this moment,

 just let me be.