Stormclouds

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When the mind becomes a storm,
the flesh a creaking vessel,
when bruised clouds of blackest mood
rage with dagger lightning,
and the captain
missing,
be still.
Know what you are not:
not the towering waves,
not the shrieking winds,
not the swollen clouds.
And know:
all storms must pass,
expending themselves
in the tumult of their expression,
while your soul remains
serene.
As boundless and pristine
as the sky that contains it,
and that even rage and pain
can be cradled in the bosom
of this infinite
compassion.
The Way of the Medium