When Is Enough Enough?

I should probably stop right there.

I’ve been writing for fifty years.

Certainly that’s enough.

Henry the Eighth ate so much that,

by the time he died, his body was

bloated and rotting.

He certainly ate enough.

The war to end all wars was followed

by a worse war, and the wars just kept

happening.

Certainly we’ve had enough of that.

Frankly, I’ve had enough of this life,

although it seems to keep happening.

We keep getting reborn because we

never get enough of what we think 

we’re looking for; separation from

space is the wind up spring that never

runs down and drives us forward

forever.

Even when we’re not, we’re trying to be.

Only Buddha had enough of the circle jerk

called samsara. When he passed into Nirvana,

he became space, our true home.

That’s enough.