There’s always something…
like the huge cockroach on the sidewalk next to me.
Not much to write home about…
not much home left to write to.
Even the absence of something is something…
that hole in the heart we always try to fill.
My check list is empty.
My bucket list is empty.
Disasters are like buses…there will be another
along any minute.
Life is simply what it is.
It arises from the void and returns to it…
nothing to write home about.
Do what you can to help the world.
Even if the world doesn’t care, it’s still worthwhile.
Buddha taught, even though he wasn’t sure, at first,
if anyone would understand.
Later on, he realized his teachings would last
several thousand years.
A little girl waved at me and smiled.
That’s as good as anything.
There are only two things in life: what’s next,
and what’s left.
What’s next keeps us always busy…there’s
always something.
What’s left is the algorithm reaching its finality,
more intense as time reaches the end point.
Each being is mathematical certainty of
foregone conclusion.
The take away is the karma we create.
“Matter is not created or destroyed.”
Elvis never left the building.
His atoms were forged in stars like all of ours.
Whatever he was was inevitable,
like Genghis Khan,
like cycles of civilizations,
like all our hopes and dreams,
like a fat cockroach on the sidewalk.
If you don’t like the weather, wait a little.
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