Sutra # 42

the groves have been imprinted so deeply
that they have created deep, dark ruts

in the craters and crevasses of my mind
that are all but impossible to fill

with any sentiment noble or pure.
i have tried to smooth out the grooves,

to stop the impressions that formed them,
but my efforts have all been in vain.

so vast are the old, habitual processes of thought
that effort alone can not dislodge them…

something more is need,
or perhaps something much less.

i have sweated, and toiled and suffered—
i imagine—through countless lifetimes

to establish a more harmonious mind
only to find myself back at the very starting point,

a sad, disjoined creature, subject to
the inexorable laws of action-reaction.

more will not suffice, so perhaps less is more:
allow the impression the space to play

but do not give them too wide a birth,
and them to pass like wind trough the birch trees

where they can do no harm
and cannot leave lingering impressions on the mind,

and so create room for other lofty thoughts to imprint themselves
or perhaps the blessing of having no thoughts at all.

empty mind, pure mind.
The result:

annihilation of the thought-reaction process,
annihilation of the self that produced them.