Chasing Answers To Questions Unknown
From the moment Father Edgar walked into the room,
I knew I wanted to be a monk.
When we changed teams, moving across the street
to the Methodists, I decided to become a minister instead.
At 15, newly into prog rock and Depeche Mode,
I discovered it was possible to not believe in God.
I flew 10,000 miles to clap hands and bow,
to ring bells and make mochi and stare up at statues.
For Christmas in 1997, Jen bought me a book
about the Lotus Sutra. It was over my head.
Three years later I was in our spare room, incense
burning on the credenza, legs folded, hands in a mudra.
Over the next two decades I went back to the cushion
time after time, trying to quiet the monkeys.
Eventually I threw in the towel, but somebody threw it back.
After all, a frood has to know where their towel is.
/ / /
22 August 2023
Charlottesville VA
Thanks to S for the title.
This is poem 32 in a series called 50 Days Till 50 Years. I’m writing a poem a day between now and my 50th birthday. I’m going to try to focus on memories of my past, and the people who inhabited it.
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