Little man, a fable

Mother Willow stood on the river bank dangling her fingers in the crystal clear water. Suddenly she heard the moaning groaning sound of someone in terrible pain. She knew immediately it was a man. He was the only living species capable of self-inflicted suffering. She inspected this particular specimen, which had plopped down next to her, trying to discern the cause of his distress. There were no signs of blood sucker bites. He hadn’t been blown over by a gust of wind, nor burned by a blistering sun. No, it was as she had expected, he was fine.

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Incognito

When I saw my reflection in the door of the grocery story I thought, ‘If I could just go incognito.’ And something deep inside said silently, ‘Don’t worry, you already are.’

We all are. The tulips and trees, grasshoppers and goats, caterpillars and cows. Life is divine. All life forms are divinity in disguise. You and your fellow man are simply human coated gods pushing grocery carts. Continue reading “Incognito”

The gift of life

Don’t confuse self with circumstance. Don’t confuse body with being. There is a trail. There is a traveler but neither one is you.

The trail gives the illusion of going from one time to the next (like from breakfast to dinner). It allows us to believe that we’ve gone from somewhere to elsewhere (like from the kitchen to the dining room).

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Come clean

How can I come into the present moment, you ask. Come clean. Come empty. Come full of space. Come full of empty space.

If you let a word define you it will always be wrong. Words disintegrate, letters crumble. They are but vanishing ink marks on a slate. Do you really want to hang one around your neck like a noose ? Take a word, if you must, hold it tight and never let it go. The winner is me ! Raise your clutched hand high, shout the word out loud. But do you really want to make yourself so small ? Do you want to live hidden in such a cramped space, behind letters that someone might suddenly and simply erase ? Winner is just a word and you are so much more. Continue reading “Come clean”

Bird’s song

I wake up wondering why I woke up. I wake up clasping the edges of a rapidly dissipating dream. I wake up wondering, ‘Wait, am I supposed to be worried,’ as a flash of unfounded fear permeates my body. Morning.

Tweet, says a little bird. Tweet, he joyously announces the birth of a new day despite the fact that we are still deeply buried in night’s darkness. How do you know, dear bird ? How can you be so bold ? Then there is a chirp, a cheep, a twitter, a tweet. The dawn chorus cracks night open to let in the day’s light. Do birds ever awake in fear and doubt ? Do they ever worry that morning won’t come about ?

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Gift package

We block ourselves by putting the glass first. ‘I want to serve water to the world,’ whispers Being. ‘Okay, says Brain, but wait, I need a glass. What ? No glass ? I need money to buy a glass. I need a job to get money to buy a glass so I can serve your water to the thirsty.’ Quickly the original premise gets quenched by the physical demands of a material world. I lie in bed, mouth dry, lips crackling. It is dusk and I am dying. I realize that I spent my entire life chasing after a glass. And I realize too, too late, that I could have simply served the water in my cupped hands.

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