POETRY

Tendrils of Mind

No matter how many words
arise in your mind,
or how many places 
its musings travel;

No matter how many 
thoughts or opinions 
it clings to,
how many attachments
to how many stories;

No matter how many shoots
called projections or memories,
or how many judgments
it imagines are true;

There is one single tendril
wound round all the others,
that must be unwound
if you want to be free;

The last one to drop
is the one you most cherish,
the one that insists
its productions are real;

The tendril that causes
all of your suffering?
The one that holds tightly 
to a thought called "me."

© Dorothy Hunt
Photo courtesy of Nina Cherington

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