Jeep's Blues

Die letzte Welle - The last Wave 38,5 x 48,5 cm by Karin Goeppert

THE SEARCH

The man who was talking to her said

he once sat naked in candlelight

for hours on a cold hardwood floor   

till someone came along and remarked,

“Maybe you should get out more often.”

He had spent two years in Burma, meditating

every day all day, before returning home to Illinois,

nerves uprooted, digestive tract in an uproar.

“We in the West tend to be literal minded,” he said.

“And greedy. We always want too much of a good thing.”

At a Zen Do in Kyoto the native monks

sneak out for the Japanese equivalent of fried steak

as the Dutch novice slurps down some rice and vegetable

concoction.  Asked to come along, he’s indignant.

J.S. Bach, on night duty at the church boarding school,

composes a cantata silently to himself while listening

to children dream. My half-brother Gary, a little 

league pitcher of some promise, ruins his right arm.

After surgery his parents have him out in the yard

throwing with his left arm. “Why have you come to us?” the

Zen master asks the Dutch novice. “I am searching for

the meaning of life.”—“The meaning of life?” asks the

master. “Ah, that’s easy.” A strict little frown. “Life is a joke. But it

takes much time and hard work and meditation to find this out.”

Far as I know he’s still out there searching for the punch line.  

Jeeps Blues by Duke Ellington