There are two kinds of happiness.
One at the top of the Ferris wheel,
and one happy to be riding at all.
There are two kinds of ‘ready for anything.’
One, like a tiger, hunting, eyes blazing.
And one, like the Zen master, given LSD,
at its peak saying, ‘Ahh, this!’
There are two kinds of ‘not caring.’
One, a wall built around
the tender places inside,
inviolable. And one because
no matter what comes,
it is yet another chance to feel alive.
There are two kinds of ache in the heart.
One a weeping for ourselves,
for others, our pain.
And one the ache of beauty,
knowing the finitude of things,
that all must pass.
There are two kinds of quiet inside.
One achieved by force of will, like a monk
sitting silently for endless hours.
And one reached by simply accepting what is,
There are two kinds of love.
One where we complete each other.
And one a spontaneous giving of
something already complete inside.
But are there two kinds of awakening?
Or is there just awake,
and then awakening yet again
to the beauty and mystery of life?