• Addiction

    I meet myself in a Labyrinth

    Enter the labyrinth. The crunch of stones beneath my feet. The chime of wind in the trees. A canvas, calling me away from my own neurotic tale. Stories upon stories turning their pages through the stillness of the morning. I turn, only to meet myself again. A young man on a padded matt, tying knots in himself, anxious to become rather than to be. If only he had met Rumi back then__ “Out beyond ideas of wrondoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I‘ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.” I turn, again, only to meet myself.…