Flowing at the speed of thought
Coursing through each nerve at once
Tendons the axles
Bones the girders
And cells the siphons
That drink in impulse
Every instinct wavering
Between the worlds of wish and action
Inner sanctums of the temple
Fill with meditation and thought
Monks tend to vases of incense
And steep tea still infusing
They guard the spirit
Which guides the whole
Governed by the souls it eats
And replenishes its own
Dislocation known as pain
When sinews snap within muscle
All that remains is gain from
Acting on the impulse first
Dreamed of by the monks
A mere millisecond before
Actions spending quiet time
On wooden floors surrounded
By paper walls, feasting
On souls, drinking jasmine tea
Robed and ruminating on the
Instincts who fixate on
Demons in the way, hoping
To conquer and overcome
Obstacles constantly
Jasmine enters the mind’s eye
Breaking through synapses
And neurons all the same while
Carving a path of electricity
In monk skulls, these paths
Are burned
They know the answer, and in
An instant become runners
To the cause of what hands
Must now do
Overcome, push forward
To starve your ego
Keep reaping souls
And feed your own
Running with sweat on his brow
He arrives at the cell
Who requires the message
“Smash through hell”
And then it is done
The monk begins his walk
Back to the temple steps
For what must be
The
Billionth time
Every struggle back up
A relentless staircase
When he returns
There will be more incense
More peace
More jasmine tea
Consume Reality! 