The Ascetic

Every day I go up on the mountain
Climb to the top but I don't know what for
It's quiet until I hear a voice up on the mountain
Beware of what you want
It might want you more

Ashes my burned hut
But beautiful like cherry
Blooming on the hill

One of my patients just before he died
And just before I left the hospital and began to travel
If he could face death so calmly
How could I face life with so much doubt
Now I can sit on the side of a mountain
And watch the shadows slowly filling the valley floor
But not without the doubts that still linger
And constantly caress the edges of my shadowy interior
At least a catheter expels impurities in a manner of model efficiency
And my previous profession always at least offered that
Flawless vasectomies in clean and well lit places
A sterile field sealed from infection but not from disease
I often wonder if I left anyone behind
But somehow I just can't remember
Only an oddly defined drive to find a better way
But somehow I don't believe this is it
As I watch the shadows slowly creeping closer
I think about India and the Hindu concept of Maya
It took me so long to understand
The space between reality and perception
And now it seems that I live there