Weard

Painting by American Artist Will Wilson

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This wonderful image brought on a poem:

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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.

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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?

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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?

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Who decides to pause and be gathered

or be pulled away and scattered?

Who if not the world itself?

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All dis-tractions

are our own,

each one happens

in the tractless Self,

which is both

tractor and tractee,

breather and breathed.