Drinking From the Power Cup

Tonight, as I sat, I drank from the power cup, an intoxicating brew made of ambition, and greed, and desire, and delusions. With a twist of anger for good measure. I had drunk the stuff many times before, the general feeling seemed familiar. Only I had never stopped long enough, to really notice. Messed me up. I could taste the bitterness. This was bad s..., that could take me down the wrong path. Back to the breath for a bit of sanity. Breathing in, I savored the slow rising of my belly, and my chest. Stopping at the top. Then watching the slow descent, until the next breath. And the next one . . . Until soon, the smell from the cup within, drew me in again. I had to be careful, not to resist too much. I knew the more I tried, the more I would be at the mercy of the witch's brew. I remembered Jack Kornfield's instructions, and let myself feel its full effect, to see how far it would take me. Aversion. I found I did not like how it made me feel. Some tears came unannounced, strangely devoid of feeling. Ring of the bell, too soon. I was not done.