Religion. Religare. To bind myself again
Although there has not been a first moment of unbinding
because ignorance lacks origin,
like compassion and the mind,
without roots or boundaries.
Stubborn is the instinct to find the beginning
Or Him who begot it
when I have been since time without memory
the one who incubates my circling,
my miseries and glory.
Binding me again
because worldly happiness [evanescent dew drop]
is not enough for me
neither satiates
that existential anguish
promoted by the underlying intuition
that my Purpose extends beyond
of our burning between the sheets
or coffee and that smell,
possibilities turned paper or accumulation of honor.

[Oh, the time remaining after my appointment with Yama: infinity,
while this dream-life evaporates between my fingers.]

Why do I suffer?
Because of my afflictions and karma [products of my own creation],
Why do I love?
Because there is a part of me aligned with reality that seduces me to act
in sink with my desire to be happy;
because loving realizing that there is no loving self
I am on my way to enlightenment.

Easter. Pesach. Passing over from death to life. From existential inertia to dedication [to make myself flourish in wisdom and compassion].

Death to the expectation and life to the faith deposited in the power of my practice:
I look in perspective from my past selves, and I know: I can Awaken, I can cut through illusion.
Death to my desire to change you and make of yourself a bundle of ephemeral satisfactions for my ego, life to the love that moves me to do something to see you happy. Emotion: that which moves me. And if it moves me, let it be in a good direction.
Death to the hope of finding real happiness in cyclical existence; resurrection to the wish of emancipation.
On the altar, the image of your Holy body,
on the desk the Holy speech and my studies,
in the cushion I contemplate; my meditation,
in the chest: my faith of conviction.
Death to my habit of pleasing [wanting others to think that I am in a certain way],
Beat to the authenticity of living aligned with my principles and honoring every decision from the courage to review every day [myself with myself] who is that being that I am.
Death to the identification with my body [this cluster of atoms destined to putrefaction], conscience to the truth of my finitude like propeller of force to the important matter: Where do I come from, where do I go?
Death to the cult of appearance but life to the care of this instrument that hosts the power to bring my consciousness to its realization, body-music that can sing the melody that harmonizes the existence of all being with pulsation.
Death to criticism, excuse, complaint, uneasiness.
Life to the verb as the road to liberation.


Happy Easter. Happy Passover to True Joy.