No More No Less

“It’s only love and that is all.

Why do I feel the way I do?”

We all go that way, as Issa said 

to the grasshopper. No more

no less. We’re only human, some

say. No more no less. 

All philosophy could end right there.

We wish we could figure it all out,

achieve certainty. It never seems to

go that way…except for the Buddhas,

which you know nothing about, or why

the sky is blue. It’s hard to grok what 

the seers see. They tell us, make 

analogies, write stanzas. If we’re lucky,

sometimes they show us miracles, which

are, simply, seeing what’s there with our

eyes finally open. Sometimes we don’t 

see things until we almost bump into them.

That’s what we’re up against, whether we

know it or like it or not. Just being realistic.

The music here now is dark jazz. Imagine

a room, dim light, old furniture, smells of 

oak, roses and death. Perfect at least for 

what I just wrote. Face it: it’s all right here;

in the three books on the desk you never 

open but always want to, the doors leading

to other rooms, a man cave, to be crass. But,

more than that why not? A miniature Xanadu,

a mini time warp to when, though there were

problems, you didn’t watch the world go crazy 

in front of you. Did I just bring you down? Or,

did I just bring you back to the present, because

you know, we’re all experiencing the same world.

No more, no less, always comes back around, so

my only advice is, for now, try to remain human.