Solid Ground

Tossed about in the tumultuous ocean

of unceasing coming and going,

Frantic to grasp on to anything

with a semblance of stability,

One inadvertently grips a relative truth

much like clinging to a buoy.

Anxious to not let go, 

Exuberant at one’s own fortune

in finding a brief respite,

One shouts over the din of the ocean

Waving arms animatedly,

Vociferously delivering an unsolicited sermon

Proclaiming the goodness of the float.

Words that dissipate like sea foam,

Failing to resonate with kith or kin.

Befuddled and indignant with self-righteousness 

Grasping firmer still, resolute.

Bobbing up and down in unsteady rhythm,

Soon the arms tire from the incessant clinging.

Respite no more, but limiting freedom

Despising the very thing that seemed like

deliverance from misery.

Once again, a panicky search ensues.

The Truth, much like solid land

Steadies different than a tossing buoy.

Beyond compare

Unfathomable to restive minds

Unprofessed by mere words.

Blemishless, untouched by pangs of desire.

Unchanging eternal bliss.

Be still, wild mind

Let go the laboring buoy

Relax into being

Step onto solid ground.