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