Pride waits, in ambush –

Poised, ready to sabotage

All my attempts to open

Into something more ordinary.

Adorned, with lipstick

And polished nails,

Eyelids fluttering,

It pounces without warning-


Shattering all illusions

Of equanimity,

As self deception

Is exposed, in the holy show.


But then the other side,

The underbelly,

Crawls away into the undergrowth,

Disclaiming Tathagarbata-


Because, despite the

Fundamental emptiness

Of Buddha nature,

It is still not good enough.


Pride is sneaky,

A clever one, busy being creative –

Offering alternatives

To the basic truth.


The process is painful as

It sets itself up over and again

To be crushed,

Over and over again,


Until nothing

Is left to be crushed,

Until there is nothing left

To prostrate.







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