Yogic... Poem by RIC BASTASA

searching for clarity
the best of which is an empty slate

that which we mistake sometimes
for clarity actually is one that contains nothing

as though
emptiness is one of those that has
nothing inside it

as though when things are in their fullness
like a flower in full bloom
as though
fullness is mess and must be
avoided

as though fullness is pain and emptiness
is unloading and must heretofore
be marked as the
ballroom

happiness so to speak
messy is noise and the empty window is clear

but the pool of water without the disturbance of the wind
is full and yet
mirrors some clarifications

that you can see your face unadulterated by grief
undiluted by any dropp of lamentation

one dives farther to see what is real and perhaps
sleep for a while

drowsiness of reality
illusion is a little bit tipsy because of so much thoughts

unthink, undream,
unmind.