The lama hits the white, soft, felt-covered mallet
Against the rim of the bowl.
It’s writing on water
It’s a knotted-up snake
That learns to untie itself
Of its own accord.
It’s a thief entering an empty house,
With nothing left to steal.
It’s a Kleenex flung into the air, not torn or wetted or wrinkled.
Just flung, like a bride leaping too high
or the shape of a bird against a lavender evening.
Nothing left to hold
Nothing to abandon in each of our private abandonings.
Trying too hard or not dropping enough
Means no sacred writing on silken surface,
No slippery slide of scale-on-scale
A locked-out thief
With empty breath and loose ends.
In the end, none of this matters.
As insignificant as the bit of orange juice
Left forgotten and un-sipped
At the bottom of the cook’s goblet
On the marble kitchen counter
After all the other dishes
Have been washed, dried, and put away.
hot on elephant
July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. A Letter to my Children: You do not come from a Broken Home. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. Mom, can I Call her Mom, Too? To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. Jon Stewart makes first appearance since retiring—”it’s not your country.” Waylon shares 10 transformingly beautiful Quotes about Love.