An Empty Cup

Is there any such thing as self taught?
What can the self teach anybody?
Can the left foot teach the right to dance?
The right hand teach the left to write?
If this life is i extrapolated,
out into the world.
What is i to do?

A pretense can be carried,
but that too is i.
A fresh approach engendered,
is there anything more staid ,more used.
The ingredients can be juggled,
some more of this ,some less.
But its still the same old casserole.
You can give it any test.

So something more is needed,
an emptying of the cup.
A handing over of proprietorship.
A leap into abyss.
To the self this is an ending,.
that it can not survive.
And every fiber and nerve ending,
 will fight to stay alive.

So if they say real change is easy
look a little closer, be a little wise.
Aren't most of them the same old casserole
slightly seasoned, a new disguise.
Every fiber of our being,
 resists transformational change.
Its desire for hemostasis,
its only holy grail.
Watch the self repeating,
turning life into routine.
A rigid set menu,
of what this and that should mean.

True change is is upheaval,
a new dealing of the cards.
A revolution of everything,
a relinquishing of control.
A step into not knowing,
frightening beyond self's comprehension.
Nothing held on, nothing to compare,
no way to measure progress,
just new eyes upon the day,
and a new life,
 that must find its own way.