The Race

Eyes barely opened and already his heart was racing. He could feel it galloping within his chest, trying desperately to escape the cage in which it was kept. His mind soon joined in. Bouncing off illusionary walls, falling into jagged memories, frantically trying to keep pace with the rapid beat. Smoking was out of the question. He had quit the night before promising his mother he would do so. He gave her his last pack.

Sighing deeply he dragged himself out of bed landing in lotus position on the floor. Seated firmly he began his pursuit. He did as he was taught breathing deeply inward focusing on a point in the center of his chest. Dozens of books had told him to be with his feelings, to observe them as a compassionate scientist would observe their subject. He wondered if the authors of these books had ever tried observing a tornado from inside a hurricane. Images, voices, and emotions pelted his psyche as he held on to emptiness with non attachment. The breathe, though steady, did little to relieve the pummeling from the false personality, who over the years he had aided in building an impressive arsenal to draw from. His heart raced on, kicking up a dust of anxiety in its wake, making it hard for the man to breathe. Opening his eyes, he realized it was time to change tactics. Walking to his desk he picked up his pen and began to write.

Pain, confusion, longing

They all poured out.

He took these erratic movements

And settled them down.

The dribble of words

Turned to a stream

As emotions transformed

Into poems of release.

His heart he felt slowing

Now at a trot

The mind had stopped moving

No need for a thought.

Down on the track he smiled at the sight.

Picked up his reins and once again sat high.

Back in the saddle to ride another day.

A soul on earth born to learn and play.