Escape from Self: A Poem
Opposite of meditation is this strange escape
from what is our deepest, most intimate truth
our spoiled ego treats it as a forbidden grape
just welcoming what may pamper and soothe.
All those ugly things that we don't want to face
return through window if kicked through door
so hard to accept, even harder to embrace
while our life feels like an unsettled score.
Drifting from parties to drugs and wine
or just staring for hours at that crazy box
watching old movies with each familiar line
in a need to knock ourselves out of our socks.
Oblivion is not merely a mental vacuum state
it is also a detachment from who we truly are
trading something precious, incredibly great
for a cheap sensation of something bizarre.
Escaping into whatever we are not
isn't living, or who is the one alive
who occupies our only given spot
in our skin to pretend and thrive?