My sorrow 
is a reflection 
	of my fear, 
				a sensation 
				of frustration 
				touching 
				our bare skin. 

		Its sensibility 
	is like a river 
				whose clarity 
				must prevail 
				in order to exist 
				because if not, 
				just like the river
				I will slowly die 
				until the only thing left 
				is the foul odor of rage 
				in the once clear water. 

		Yet, if I feel 
	that I am already 
in the process of
decomposing
			.
				.
					.
 
					Don't panic, don't fall 
				into the same frustration 
			that caught initially
		my spirit in sorrow.
Just sit.

Smell, 
	although at first
		it might seem inevitable 
			to judge it as sickening.  
				Don't be fooled. 
				In judging others, 
				I judge myself. 
There is no disease. 

		The river 
	can purify itself 
instantly 
			if at its source 
			we stop throwing 
			dead animals. 
Just sit.

		Sit as if all 
	were patience, 
				and calmly 
				find the source
				of all that fear.  
Hear, 
	don't get angry 
		at what you sense: 
		the aspect of myself 
		that contaminates; 
instead teach yourself
		with inner awareness
			to be pure as the river 
				that is no more fear, 
	only patience, and love, 
	everywhere you sit. 
Signature Lina Ru