Sesshin June 2009 (winter)

Get out of the bed, a clang of the bell,
How could it be four-thirty?
How did I die and end up in hell,
Why are my knees so hurty?

Why is that bloke out there hitting a drum?
This is no time for a dance.
Its still dark outside, the birds are asleep.
Where did I put my pants?

Down on the mat, two rings of the bell,
All of us shoulder to shoulder.
Brass monkeys are worried, there’s fog in the room,
As around us the zendo gets colder.

One breath quietly follows another,
With a sneeze and a cough and a fart.
And a walk in a circle around the room
Dissolving of self is an art.

Hundreds of thoughts, each a distraction,
I must have a head full of rocks.
The teacher is clear that it all falls away,
It’s easy, like riding an ox.

Somehow the fog is starting to clear.
Head has been pulled through a funnel.
Did someone put cannabis into the soup?
Or is there a light at the end of the tunnel?

Give thanks for the teachers, thanks for the day,
Give thanks for the bloke with the drum.
Time to go home, live without fear,
Give thanks for the time on our bum.

Tim Gleeson, Sesshin participant