Day Off

MDMA while drugs are still not yet palliative, 

not that I don’t feel a little terminal. “I drink to 

experience ecstasy of mind.” said Kerouac. 

Yes. I did too, and it worked for about fifty 

years, then,I quit….not the ecstasy part, 

obviously.

Day off? There was a billboard with the Dalai 

Lama  on it in India showing a photo of him 

drinking a  Coke@. The caption read: “The 

Dalai Lama takes a break.” Chogyam Trungpa 

saw the billboard, and his  response was:  

“From what?”

Day Off. I retired when I was fifty three. Not so 

much retired as stopped working…..plumbing…

my livelihood. It served me well for thirty years.

The minute I thought I could survive without it,

I quit.

I had a privileged upbringing, but I didn’t chose

a privileged profession. They all seemed to be 

traps; entertainment, law, writing all required a

certain amount of capitulation in order to attain 

success. No one wanted to be a plumber…one 

of the few remaining professions for outlaws. It

was perfect for me. Lazy? That’s why I moved 

to Mexico. Also, because the pressure from the 

process of America waking up from it’s 

misplaced dream was becoming too intense…

the way it is now.

……………………………………………………

Goodbye yellow brick road…you just numbly 

don’t get there…there’s always a man behind 

the curtain…the farther we get from the earth, 

the further we get from ourselves…ashes to 

ashes, after all is said and done.

When young, one thinks one is immortal…and

now, chronic ironic little reminders that life is 

just a process, an ephemeral event. Just 

because you have a name doesn’t mean it’s

not an illusion.

First “servietta”, white butterfly looks like a 

floating napkin. They appear at the beginning 

and end of the rainy season here. It’s too early

for them. They’re probably confused along with 

the rest of us. Progress was such a hopeful 

concept…gave a sense of stability and purpose.

Now we’re thrown back to survival.

That’s why I’m ready to die…a little early, 

maybe, but you never know. When young, I just 

wanted  to know what was going on…what was 

life? No one even seemed interested. That’s why, 

when I  stumbled upon Buddhism, I realized that 

someone had figured it out. When I met my 

teacher and realized here was someone that 

knew and had worked it out, that’s all I needed. 

After decades of work, what I know and my 

life are the same. No more struggle on the path. 

So, unless I can help someone, be of some 

assistance, I’m ready to move on.

It’s hard to meet the Buddhist teachings. When

you do, there’s no guarantee that one will connect

with them. Most people will agree that there’s 

a subtle, or, maybe not so subtle, nagging feeling 

that something’s missing…otherwise, there’d be 

no religion.

I like Robert Anton Wilson’s religion….where 
everybody gets to be Pope, infallible unto
themselves, which, if you think about it, is the
way it should be. As the teachings say: “Even
if the Buddhas of the Three Times rise against
you, you will remain in the Indestructible vajra
nature.”  I’ll buy that for a dollar.

I had a course in college that was Zen meditation.
The instructor was a sensei form Kyoto University.

We would meditate for an hour, and then sensei 

would tell a funny Zen story. A party was given in

his honor at the end of the trimester. Sensei got

quite drunk, and gave a teary monologue about 

how he hoped he had done well, and that he 

wanted to help everyone. It was embarrassing 

for his mainly white, Protestant audience. What 

we didn’t realize  was that sense was being 

authentically Japanese in his drunken ramble, 

that Japanese are allowed  to be truthful when 

they are drunk, which is why  it’s a nation of 

alcoholic businessmen. When I was in Kyoto, 

I saw a vending  machine that had bottles of 

Johnny Walker  Red for sale. I didn’t appreciate 

sensei Nishimura ’til years later.

Sheeple….and the bleat goes on…don’t say 

we didn’t warn you….this is what “2012” 

was all about, the  battle of good against 

evil, “great awakening”, “cosmic attractor”, 

“singularity”, “armageddon” even.  So, it’s a

few years later. As Jack Kerouac said: “Walking 

on  water wasn’t built in a day.” (Died on his 

toilet like Presley).

I write. Some people knit, ride horses…all  

kinds of  things. Some people like trains, I 

like words. That’s all It is. On the other hand, 

art, communication,  appreciation, transmission, evolution. I like reading what I wrote, which 

doesn’t mean I think I’m any good at it. Practice 

for next lifetime. One person in the world 

thought I was good enough and published 

me…that’s good enough for me.

The end of my life is an attractor for me, not 

in the  sense that I want it to happen, though, 

to be honest, sometimes I do…not out of 

depression, more out of a sense of “let’s get 

on with it” or something. No, it attracts 

because I feel it heading in that direction, and 

I want to know the experience.