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Close Call
I can be such a slave
To busy-ness and goals,
To doing, to enacting
That I'll exhaust myself.
And how far away am I
from addiction, obsession,
disease, poverty, insanity?
A few drinks, a few dollars,
a few neurons, a few cells,
a few molecules, perhaps?
I'm a walking miracle,
Like so many others,
That I haven't fallen
Off this precarious cliff
That faces me every second.
And I've often edge-danced
Like a youthful fool.
The gods of karma
Are brutal beasts,
And I've played their games
Like a brainwashed follower.
But the gods of spirit
Have illuminated a way,
And granted opportunity,
To step off a train,
Destined for wreckage.
Spacious spirit,
The door to sanity,
The key to hidden wealth,
The boon of equanimity,
The prize of all prizes.
The choice is ours.
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