I can’t breathe.
Reeling drunk from overindulgence in form. Swaying from side to side, stumbling to the bathroom door, living a lifetime of drinking in sensations and slamming down perceptions. Puking into a dirty toilet the remnants of things I expected to always be beautiful but now float, partially digested and barely recognizable. It seemed like such a good idea at the time…when did I become addicted to form?
Cocktails of skandhas do not nourish us. They do not sustain us. They may add flavor but as a meal they only serve to provide a moment of mundane pleasure and a lifetime of clinging nostalgia. Bar-rooms become grand galas in our minds.
I will drink in skandhas for the rest of my life, I am an addict to this life, but at least this barstool of doubt, faith and vigor will keep me from drowning in it. The three-legged barstool of Dharma keeps me above addiction to living, addiction to life. Like an alcoholic forever trapped in a bar dripping in free booze.
It takes only two inches of water for a man to drown. It takes only one memory to remove your breath. In each memory you find samsara. With each moment of samsara a breath follows. With each breath a moment of Nirvana…
moments are moments.