Painting by American Artist Will Wilson
This wonderful image brought on a poem:
Wearying, wearing -
the tides of mind, the push and pull,
the endless 'tractions of the world:
de-, con-, dis-, at-, in-, ex-,
whether it's grit's irritation
or enamour of pearl.
Closed eyes close out the world
but not the mind.
A deep breath may extinguish it for but a minute.
How to push away that intractable tractor?
Who is distracted, weary, or worn?
"We are weary", say bodies, say minds.
But who wears them?
(in both senses of the word)
Who is the moon of their tides?
Who decides to pause and be gathered
or be pulled away and scattered?
Who if not the world itself?
are our own,
each one happens
in the tractless Self,
which is both
tractor and tractee,
breather and breathed.