In the Arms of the Dakini

Is it just a congregation of sensations,

Glittering golden ring just out of reach

On the carousel,

Going round and round?

Seems impossible this is not

A real thing, person, entity,

Independently existing

Just to make me feel good or bad.

The longing, where does it come from?

The endless bombardment of images,

Who throws them at me?

Where are they generated?

Mind projector working overtime

Yet try as I might, my head is stubborn,

Turning my eyes only to the screen,

Even though I know,

I know, I know.