Vipassanā
May 24th, 2018
Jon Jon
The project on James St.
Malformed streetlights reflecting off busted curbstones as I make my way to the gates of Dis
Within, where worn soles have slid trails of filth into delicate arabesques in praise of that which is most high in the minds of all addicts
Breathing in
Breathing out
Breathing in
Breathing out
Thinking
The Nidānas
Sense perception and vedanā birth craving, craving births clinging, and clinging births a demon whose karmic toll a lifetime of installment payments will not abate
The Impala busted, lying to my dad about owing money to the wrong people
Bound to the passenger seat of his Cadillac for that endless circuit Berlin to Hartford to Berlin to Hartford to Berlin to Hartford
Passing the exits that still hurl rocks of fear, joy, and unattainable hope into my mind’s turbulent waters, until high holy 46 lifts its monolithic boldface sigil above the incomprehensible blur of worktime commuters
A left, a quick right, four blocks up then another left and a loop around the one way
Will there ever come I time when I cannot recite those turns from memory?
Gunshots, and the still night air trembles in fear
I am unfazed
I have my dope, but no hard
This is unacceptable
No regard for the terrors swirling about the Cadillac, parked close enough for the muzzle shocks to seep into ligament but far enough for the mass exodus of panicked souls to appear as ink dots on a spreadsheet of inner city gang violence
Save his only son whose dukkha seeped, hyper-Machiavellian brain may have finally burst out the back of his skull, glistened in the dim streetlight and settled upon the filth encrusted pavement
I walk through the panicked back alleys in search of someone with enough business sense to not let a body get in the way of an easy 20 bucks
Months later, the visiting area of the Hartford Correctional Center
Wap with his dreadlocks and molten granite eyes pounding and waving from the other side of the glass asking my father how the Caddy is doing
Breathing in
Breathing out
Breathing in
Breathing out
Thinking
The Saṃyutta Nikāya
As a dog bound about a post runs the same circle again and again, so too do we bound in Saṃsāra run through an endless cycle of thoughts until they give birth to action and pull the chains of human misery into a taut spiral
But I do not have to let my thoughts corporealize
They are only thinking
Thinking
Thinking
That parking space just far enough to avoid Jon Jon’s ire
Beneath the basketball hoop in it’s motley coat of rust and scratched paint
Always open. Always waiting for us
Me and Kieth and Mark and Rob pulling out our stems to see which of them has the least grime and resin
Then absolute bliss
The Dhammapada, Verse 1
Manasā ce paduṭṭhena, tato naṃ dukkham anveti, chakkaṃ va vaḥato paddaṃ
Having a mind with such corruption, suffering follows him as a yolked cart follows an ox
Originally published at Anti-Heroin Chic
