Bye Mum, See you soon

We held each other close
for the seconds that remained
and I felt your body sob
as I offered my refrain of consolation.

Oh, it hurts!
These tearing seconds that stretch
all the way back to a time
when I was yours, you mine.
Oh, it hurts to see us this way.

And that hall is so long
and my piddly-puddly steps sound squishy
in my own departmental ears,
all that's left, tears, fears,
laughter without reason -
crushing love on a slushy afternoon.

We're sailors all and the world swells.
Concrete tilts, we heave and buckle
as another wave passes
and another and another after that.

Don't look back cause if you do
you will see your mother shuffling after you,
casting her beautiful farewells,
her garbled spells full of their own sweet magic.
Don't look back cause if you do
you will know that she is crying too
and there isn't enough room between us
for all this yearning.

Good Enough

My dog Buddy hacks and coughs
like he's about to spit up a lung.
He licks himself in public,
and scratches rambunctiously at imagined fleas,
and the back door, and his dinner dish.
He shits on our lawn and in the boulevard.
And we hover round,
our inverted plastic bags at the ready
to whisk away his logical conclusions
while he trots on.
In his world poop ain't worth wiping your ass over.
He growls and yowls at every passing footstep,
and howls when I sing off key.
He's a nuisance underfoot, and an expense.

But that's okay.
Because in Buddy's eyes I'm good enough.
I'm not a screw-up or a pack of lies.
I'm not a suit with a mismatched tie...
He's a dog, he's colour blind!
Even my driving passes the test.
I'm idolized.
He doesn't read or criticize.
Or measure the weight I'm pulling.
There's nothing about me that he hates.

It's okay, man, he says with adoring eyes.
You're good enough.
All I want for now
is a kind word
and a hand that strokes my fur
in the right direction.

I am discovering today - as I vacuum and tidy up in preparation for a guest - that I am primarily intellectual. That doesn't mean I discount the physical, emotional and spiritual facets of being. They are essential contributors to my intellectual power. But my fulfillment will come mainly in the intellectual realm, and primarily as a philosopher. Therein lies the heart and soul of me.

Take time to tie your shoe properly

flikr image by chefranden

The other day I was tying my shoe. I noticed a peculiar quality to the act, a shift in perception that intrigued me. Time had slowed, even though I was manipulating the laces with as much purpose, dexterity and speed as usual. At that precise moment I didn't really want to be doing anything else. I had an appointment to get to, and was suiting up to jump on the Scarabeo (my scooter), so I should have been in my usual hurry...

But the sensation of the shoe laces, running through my fingers fascinated me, and the tick of the wrapped lace ends against the black leather uppers. When I gripped the lace and pulled to tighten, I became aware of a pleasing equilibrium to the act: muscle counterpoised against muscle, bone against bone, thought against thought. I wanted that sensation to never end, to elongate into a session of spiritual shoe lacing of indeterminate duration.

You can't loiter in the downstairs washroom of your office for ever, of course. That's where my locker is, in the downstairs washroom. I could be intruded upon at any moment. So the Zen of shoe-lacing would have to be bracketed by start and end points. I chose to ignore the inevitable priorities of practical living, however. If pleasure cannot be extruded beyond the limits of necessity, perhaps it can be enjoyed in the infinite interstices of a here and now. If you keep dividing a second between the tickings of your watch, does it go on forever? Can you become all knowing in the blink of an eye?

No one has ever accused me of that! But still...

Once one shoe was done, I still had another. That's the beauty of tying shoes. There's two of them so forever can be twice as long as you initially expected. In the midst of this celebratory shoe tying activity I remembered my father's impatience. Perhaps I should have spelled 'father' with a capital F, because all Fathers are capitalized, are they not? One of the lessons he imparted to me at a relatively early age was to 'Stop Daydreaming!' Dad wouldn't shout this. He would always say it with an amused, kindly look. But he meant it. If you daydream too much, life passes you by, was the implication.

Was he wrong? Is it not possible that daydreaming back-fills our lives with infinite possibilities? Do some of the saints amongst us discover that you can layer an infinite number of dimensions into one here-and-now if you become an adept - if you 'wash your bowls' with intensity and delight? Without letting the tug of somewhere else in some future time distract you? Can you see an atom whirling in a grain of clay, and understand that it's a universe all its own, yet nothing but an idea?

Tug, over-under, pull again, loop, wrap, poke the second strand through, tug again to tighten the knot. There! Done!

I wonder if anyone would notice if I untied my shoes and started over again? Who knows, maybe I already have, and I'm stuck in some kind of infinite shoe tying regression!