Longing, longing, always the body longing, mind lingering, then longs for body to be satisfied. More longing. Now mind and pleasure, the mind built by longing, tamed by longing, excelled by longing. Mind, present sadness, future sadness, and all past sadness and aching joints that connect to them, this limitation in Samsara, end of all woes, begin ceasing to suffer. Pure love, the source, must it seek its own ignorance in order to seek liberation from the duality of phrases. Mind and body, no becoming involved in either, just inventing. Letters from the flesh filled tomb. Mind glossed over by fury little pronouns and adjectives. Lonliness. Wonderings if this existential breakdown complies with this Buddhist wandering at work here writing. How I miss my anam cara, my personal bodhisattva, my embodiment of Kannon, laying mercy and waste to my unenlightened loins, and to my mind, only spared this immortal whispering. Longing, my friend, no need! Must we too depart ways at the crossroad? The bus is always departing, and I, never catching up, grow weak, frail and tired. More youthful in appearance then ever. Baby like immaturity, is this beginners mind? No one, not a thing cares for your philosophy. Longing, longing, always longing for a listener, now listener longing, voice lingering, voice longing now for the listeners satisfaction. Ears that hear the mind, invent the listener, aknowledges that in lovers there is a similar interaction. Now I know the pains in the poets hell, dwelling on the outskirts of Amida Buddha’s 48 vows. No satisfaction in the pleasurable, worldly pleasures, nor in any offered up in Sukhāvatī except the literal visualization of Amida. Longing, longing, always enlightenment longing for the unenlightened as it lingers, then longs for the satisfaction of enlighenment and Nirvana, more longing, now enlightened and unenlightened, emptied, built by longing, tamed by longing, excelled by longing, Is the ego yet to be severed. The source grows weak.