La Grange in Buddha Land

Tulpen - Tulips 35 x 30 cm - Soft Pastel and acrylics on cotton/linen primed with fine sand gesso

FROM A PILGRIM’S JOURNAL

Do you remember how later that evening

the hot winds chafed us, how meditation

was so boring we fell asleep? All that time

trying to think about nothing. My knees hurt.

What exactly or not exactly were we doing

in loose garments, sandals, soft-spoken, humble?

Monks were kicking coconuts on the beach

and all I wanted to do was put my fist through a wall:

there is no “I”, they say, just a dream of self, some stickers—

“been there, done that” — on a steamer trunk, nothing inside

was what they asked us to meditate on. Plenum void.

Who was this nothing meditating on nothingness?

No one would say. They only smiled.

Mornings we swept the palm leaves into piles

of platonic perfection—concentrate! No task is unimportant!—

raked sand, swept out the kitchen, the afternoons smoky with

fires the monks and a few bored guests had ignited  

at the water’s edge; we listened to the soft waves—

sotto voce, semi-subliminal—waited for 

the magic to kick in. Way deep into the night I was almost sure

we had bodies, my love, but not a soul between us. 

La Grange - ZZ Top