I was gearing up for a new season of poetry.

It's a bit like being ridden by something you cannot see.

In my case, a haunting image of a life where I "arrived" and had "made" it.

Some haunting image of wandering in the mountains, carefree like a drifting cloud.

But then I saw my teacher in the Dreamtime again, firmly nestled in the Pure Land.

It went a little something like this.


Student: I feel such an utter and absolute sense of disillusionment.

Teacher: Celebrate. To be without illusions is the point.

(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen (Wandering Stone Lantern) purelandpoetry.com

sound: Forrest Fang / "Departure" from FOLKLORE