The more I practice, the less I know what good practice is.
I'm more confused than before I came here--
less stable, less secure.
And yet I've become more acceptable to myself.
I'm not satisfied,
but is satisfaction really worth all the worry?
Words like "meaning" are becoming less meaningful to me,
and I don't even have to be all that happy
in order to be happy.

Wind and rain are cold,
winter feels lonely,
and snow suffocates.
It all makes me scared and sad.
And lying next to someone warm,
being kissed,
looked at deeply,
would be just the thing.
Sleep is getting shorter and I'm getting thinner,
and weaker,
more human than I was before,
coming down to earth.
No real skill, no real direction, no real depth,
nothing to show for twenty-eight years of life.
Head drooping in sleep during zazen, nose running,
or thinking like a broken record,
trapped, utterly, in desire--