Beating.

There is a beating.

Every single time the mind finds tranquility,
There is a beating.

The beating starts off gentle and unnoticeable,
As time wears on,
It becomes louder and louder.

When the mind focuses of the beating,
It silences and laves the mind to fend for itself.

Only because this beating is the rhythmic drums of doubt.

What if you could have done that?
Is that really what he meant?

Every single time the mind tries to find peace,
To find a break away from the rhythmic beating,
The insistent beating..

Only then does the beating grow louder,
It grows stronger.

How can you find peace with this beating?

Beyond this pulsating, beating doubt,
There is one thing.

A gentle strumming,
Always soft at first,
Yet more beautiful and pure when the mind draws upon it.

Only too easily can this gentle strumming fall victim,
To the pulsating beating.

Strumming would be the song of truth.

Only too easily does it fall victim to the beating,
The beating, thriving doubt in the back of the mind.

Rarely does this strumming steal the mind's attention as well as the beating,
It is only too soft,
It is too fragile of a sound in comparison to the beating.

Unlike the beating,
The more the mind ignores the strumming the fainter it gets.

Therefore the mind can only focus on the beating.

As most mind often do,
They are overwhelmed by the beating.

What sort of a mind does it take?
To defy the beating and listen to the beautiful strumming,
To throw away the pulsating and beating doubt?

It takes a broken mind,
A mind that has been shattered by the beating.

A mind that can learn to listen beyond the beating.

What better way to learn,
Than to be shattered completely first?

To know how it is to know how it is to not only hear the beating,
To feel the beating,
To become the beating.

Few minds have the capacity to sustain such beating,
And to rise from it.

Most minds become one with the beating and never stop.