May 27,1998
(I was 53)
It is as if I have decided
upon
a certain incarceration
which I have resolved not to
escape.
It feels like a chosen sphere
of mental limitation.
It is selected repression
taking up ugly residence within
me,
commitment more oppressive
for its lack of physical
restraints.
It is a bondage and servitude
without redemption.
No devotion, no holiness, no
light,
no ecstasy, rapture, hope of
nirvana,
no grail nor golden fleece,
no solace in the ridiculous.
My vision is tainted with
clarity;
no mist of compassion
blurs the view of artifice and
deceit.
Not obliged to stay
non-judgmental,
no amusement tempers disgust;
no match kindles the incense of
freedom.
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