Whatever it is, this being of mine is made of flesh, breath and mind.
We know that everything about the flesh --
this marvelous network of nerves, veins, bone and muscle --
is impermanent: its joys and sufferings, its strengths and weaknesses,
its skills and ineptitudes.
Likewise the breath is now shallow, now deep, now steady, now troubled.
And air, like food and drink, moving in and out of the body,
secures us to the entire, glorious, ever-changing world.
Likewise the mind runs here and there, chasing this and that,
hankering after books, conversation, entertainments, enthrallment;
disquiet with regret for the past and suspicion for the future.
Seeing this, I lighten up about my own inconstancy,
my tendency to be moved by appetites and ideas,
by indignations righteous and otherwise,
jerking on the strings of impulse and aspiration.
At the same time, I remember gladly that this thrice inconstant being of mine
can also stop, rest, find stillness and deep peace.
Body, breath and mind: any can become anchor to the others.
The contentment and clarity of these moments grows sweeter as I grow older.
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