Karma

Coffee again on the sidewalk in Tepoztlan, Mexico.

As the Talking Heads sang: “ Well, how did I get here?”

I can trace back my whole life and it kinda makes sense,

unlike what’s happening in the rest of the world, although 

even that has its own twisted logic.

I think of Kerouac in a ramshackle cabin in Big Sur having 

similar thoughts, or Ginsberg howling in New York City

in epiphany dazzling night, all of us Fools with no Kings

to tell the truth to, out on our own.

Technology, the great equalizer, has made fools of us all.

I “sing in my chains like the sea”, words washing out into

the internet, the Quantum Mind.

My only hope the serendipity of quantum strangeness,

connection beyond space and time, my own howl a

whimper echoing at the end of the little world I once knew.

As I wrote these words my friend came by and sat down,

Cornelius, German, an old Fool like me, we talked.

“We chose this life,” he said.

“We chose to be pounded into dust so that we could see.”