I write about what I do,,,
Eat, sleep, practice, shit, that’s all…
Anymore, I’m a true kusulu…
Not much going on.
So, I’m in the market this morning,
Tostadas con pollo, tocino, jugo…
A pit stop on the road to enlightenment…
The clientele of a would-be-bodhisattva
Swarm around me…I breathe in their salsa,
Breathe out my delight in their human presence.
That’s all I got…I’m just a drop of water
Trying to wear away a mountain…a mountain
Of ignorance, and confusion…of illusion.
At least, I’ve got plenty of work.
When a baby stares at me, at my beard,
at my long hair, at my white skin, and I look
into their crystal-ball-mind, I know there’s
A connection: you’ve got to get to them before
They have teeth,... before they can eat solid food,
Before they eat food that makes them solid.
Then you can speak their unspoken language,
And show them something they’ll be looking for,
For the rest of their lives.
Right now, people walk past…
The way they’ve walked past
For thousands of years, caught in the current
Of their continuity. Once in a while, a drop of water
Hits them on the forehead, out of a clear blue sky.