How there is a mountain and there are mountains
and I want to climb and play on them. How I’m like
a goat (they are adept on mountains) and I’d like
to climb and play. So when I paw for footholds
it’s really me just looking to climb and play on
you, you being part of the mountain I see, the
‘scape of Reality. Footscape, food for my brain,
an octopus twirling a Rubix cube. Gears, too. I’m
looking for footholds of collaboration and
understanding to grease my grind flawlessly. I’m
looking for that which doesn’t bother me, that
which doesn’t agitate my ego. Something with some
grease, happy happy grease or ice or something
slippery I can eel my way around. Or sand to
dampen. Footholds of content rather than upset. Or
if I’m sticking something in, may it be benevolent
like acupuncture.
What I’d like to see is a glass or diamond
mountain, something shiny. When I chisel my feet
into it the footholds would be put there for me.
Footholds with presents, flowers and food that
everyone can follow before and after me. Footholds
on some dharma path like cornucopias. Or footholds
on different paths for different people–it’s not
differentiation but rather situations various us’s
of us have landed–therefore, different paths. Or
formulaic paths that work, if that’s OK. Paths
that have each of us winding up the mountains or
for those who aren’t like goats–those who don’t
like to climb–through plains, too.
Or if I’m a being with roots, how I can just grow,
through and around myself, inner skin pushing
radius outwards and upwards.
Howe’er I traverse this path may I recognize it as
topology in which I can do and be such as to
unmoody myself.
~ Lady