Everything I

Speak? Sure. But, be warned....you'll find me...[choose your adjective].

Write? Why write? Does anyone read? I do write. I'm torn.

Buddhists and Taoists suggest I consider silence.

I'm not sure whether they meant the lips AND the pen?

Buddhist monks recite Gathas. I write "Archispeak".

Cross-referencing building and elevator codes.

Never a monk will I be, Buddhist or otherwise.

Beyond repair? Why would one repair......perfection?

Laugh. It's fine. I always wanted to make people laugh.

Have you heard about Gathas? Oh. Ha! Yes, this week.

Cute? That's a word like "crazy" or "normal". It's subjective.

The residential code is not a bit subjective.

For a small fee, I delivered in writing, very good news.

Yes. I do still have a highly functional brain.

Better, by far, than a supermarket robot!

Poetry? Some. My best portrays myself as a fungus.

I just wanted to be a fungi.......to make folks laugh.

The Buddha said not to be a fungus. Sort of.

Non-clinging and equanimity. Tall order.

That was an "in the moment" moment. Calmer. Quieter.

I thought it was a small dog at first. It was dark.

My grandmother was attacked by a raccoon. Cute?

My father said, "It couldn't have happened to a nicer person".

I have a bad story for everything. Almost.

He was all Budweiser and cigarettes. Good man.

But, I'm not qualified to judge. Not me.

I'm so disqualified: as monk, nun, man, woman.....

Ahh, but it's all water under the bridge, as they say.

Genderlessness aside, I'm too old, too sick to serve.

But, I truly feel that I've never been more human.

I cry. But, with more empathy and love than sadness.

Replacement? Only for the love of bone density.

Slippery, but sticky. Whose bright idea was that?

Excruciating pain and humiliation;

only to smear it on my arms every morning?

Osteoporosis or empathy? Life's latest "choice".

It's a shitty picture. But I'll keep my distance.

When it climbed a tree. Dogs don't climb trees. Not a pup.

I've tried, and tried. But, never had even a nibble.

I always thought that the biggest fish would be there.

True. A proper Buddhist would leave the fish alone.

Fact check this though: I've heard that the Dalai Lama eats meat.

Fish in the Gatha? No. Under the bridge, I mean.

Maybe the water's too fast. The current's too strong.

It's kind of like my bedroom at night. A mystery.

Nonetheless, I began my own Gatha.

The Gatha reminds us to cherish every day.

You know about blue light? No. Not the blue light special.

What store was that? A blue light on wheels.

It moved around the store. Like a bargain beacon.

No. Someone pushed it. No robots in the eighties.

Now there are robots working in the supermarket.

Apparently useless robots. But I shouldn't judge.

I began a poem about the puppycoon:

Dappled by shadow, I saw a pup all alone.

Toward us, on dimly lit walkway it scurried.

Has it wandered too far in the dark from its home?

"Whose lost puppy is this", I wondered and worried.

It seemed to be serving no useful purpose.

The same might be said of me: My wife's third child.

I tried to interact with it. To speak to it.

Like my grandmother in the hospital. Speechless.

She would not speak a word. Just unblinking eyes. Silence.

It's not great for sleeping. Street lights, computer screens...

Chainsaws and choker chains. Bears hooting in springtime.

I wish I'd kept one of the chains. Two. One for each shoulder.

I interact with it all: Blue-lit raccoons, Buddhists, and robots.

I speak to it all, with more empathy than sorrow.

The Gatha reminds us to cherish each moment.

I am having difficulty with the first line:

I wake rested from a good night's sleep. Maybe tomorrow?

An hour of silence. I left. At least I tried. Sort of.

"So nice of you to visit". The door closed behind me.

Let it go. I offer meta. It's a Buddhist thing:

May all beings be at peace and find some rest. Even us.