Wish Me Well Poem by Etienne Charilaou

Now, I really struggle
to find the words I need.
and yet it speeds.
Thankful I am indeed.

What is the smallest thing
that opens everything?
That passes through the eye
of seeing, into the mind's gleaming?

Such strange sights I behold
everyday, and yet the pattern is so familiar.
I am wearied of it - beautiful
though it is, I want something new.

A new sky, but not just a different colour.
The new Heaven and Earth perhaps?
I don't know what it is
I long for, but there it is -
it hopes and yearns, and is never satisfied,
can find no peace on simple Earth.
Will the universe offer more
to jaded eye, narcotized spirit?

I wonder where freedom truly lies?
Death is too easy and besides
consciousness must taste the freedom,
know itself to be free - not possible
if zero is all it can be.

And yet the Zen masters aver:
‘Show me your mind so that I may pacify it.'
You are free already.
You are there already.
It is here!
It is here!
So why do I feel like
I'm in a prison?

O Fierce delusion!
Paralysing illusion.
Dread chains that are no chains.
Dread life that is no life.
Dread change that doesn't change.

It's always the same,
always different, yet, the same.
The trap is sprung -
we slowly die.

It's hell on Earth,
and sometimes heaven too.

‘They are all in the Buddha's Nirvana already -
if only they knew it.'
Well, I do know it!
I do!
(quieter now) I do.
If only tears would come
but dryness pervades my being now.

I see no hope.
It's not despair - only reality.
Time will pass and do its
greatest service - to set free
from the bindings of matter -
whatever deserves to be set free.

The great words of Liberation (Moksha)
will not come. As if I could speak
like God and bring Light into being,
reverse everything back into Eden again.

But back? To go back is surely wrong?
Forward - we must go forward, to
meet our Destiny.
Whatever it may be. Whatever it is,
I know, we will have done our utmost.
I believe we are great for that.
Perhaps we are God's children after all?

Aah! a primal cry of soul - is it
in distress? I don't know anymore.
I don't know but I know too much,
and cannot stop. The pen will stop - sure.
But mind won't stop. The soul can't rest.
Ever on. But I will try (and fail?) to
stop the headlong dash. I will
rest, I will become All.
I will become Eternal, unending.
All will be known to me, Peace
will be mine, Love - will love
be mine? It is time - wish me well.