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."
https://www.dorothyhunt.org/home
