Gray Matter

I am a slave to my organs
I cannot go a day without my bladder calling out
at least 9 times, and that's when I'm dehydrated.

I feel the pangs of hunger roll over me like waves.
It growls, I ignore, it quiets.
Growling a little louder I refuse to listen, then again calm.
My belly shakes the rest of my body, I grab the chips and salsa.

The pain in my tow causes me to hobble around for
several minutes muttering, "Ow ow ow ow ow ow!"
Then of course there is sex, that organ runs my life
more than any other except...

The brain. That one never shuts up.
Always yapping away about all these great ideas,
most of which are completely inconsequential outside the gray matter.
It keeps me awake when I want to sleep.
It talks in different voices like a psychopath.
It argues with itself and feels horrible after a night of drinking, especially tequila.

Yet this gray matter makes sense of the images and sounds I perceive.
Ultimately it is responsible for all my sensations and perceptions.
It finds solutions to many problems.
It allows me to connect with others through language and shared experience.
I am the brain writing through this body to write about myself.
I posses the hand that moves the fingers into doing my bidding.
I am the slave master.
I run the show.


There is one thing that can take over...

instinct.

Mosquito Dharma

I have a difficult time hating. It seems that "hate" has rarely been in my repertoire of words. Of course I have preferences, likes and dislikes, and that's normal. However, I can say that there is one thing in existence that has taught me how strongly I can hate another creature. Mosquitoes.

They are horrible! Despicable!
Heinous beyond compare.
Those blood sucking fiends
Get through my jeans,
my t-shirt and even my hair! (Well they used to get through my hair)

Parasitic in nature they add nothing of value to the world. Instead, they get fat sucking my blood! They feed past the point of being full, ready to explode.

Carrying west nile, Dengue, malaria,
and countless other diseases
They make people sick
So I'll give 'em a flick
Or a slap whenever I pleases

Mosquitoes give me an itch I don't particularly like to scratch. So what do they offer me? What is their teaching?

I and the mosquito are one
Sucking blood I find quite fun
I drink past my fill
With nary a spill
And leave a big welt when I'm done

*words in green denote the mosquitoes perspective.

I do feed off others, taking advantage of countless people around the world with my choices in food, clothing and any other materials. I use people to my own selfish ends, even when I don't realize it. Especially when I don't realize it. When I'm not feeding from them I feed off my self. I am a glutton.

Am I Buddha nature? Of course!
Eating from pig and human and horse
One big slap to the head
Causes me to be dead
Yet the slapper has no remorse.

I watched as one landed on my arm and pricked me with its needle. I patiently waited, watching as it fed. It extracted its proboscis and flew away. Though it left a welt the welt did not itch.

Allow me to live and do as I may
Don't slap me or swat me or bat me away
I'll do what I please
And leave you at ease
That I might live to suck another day.

As do most living beings on this planet, mosquitoes came from the earth. I love the earth and everything she produces. I love human beings though I hate some of our actions. The most heinous acts come from greed, using other to suit our own selfish desires without regard to the consequences. Perhaps when we finish feeding off each other and give of ourselves to feed others we will have no need for mosquitoes to show us our own parasitic nature. There is also the possibility they will rise up as a cohesive force and attempt to suck us dry. At least we have bug zappers.

Infinity Lake

Swimming tonight beneath the muffled light of a full moon through the mist
I couldn't tell where the water ended and infinity began.
The moon dotted the water in rivulets of light as fog bridged the gap between water and air.
A loon's song echoes across the lake, on water as still as death.
A song heard through the vastness of space.
I call back and once hear an answer, then silence.
I call again and hear nothing. No response.
The loon knows I am an impostor.

As I lay in bed I hear a boat motor pass through the night air.
Driving a boat in this is insanity.
On the lake I could barely see a meter in front of my face.
How does the driver know where to go?

A wake, the remnant of the boat, crashes against the shore
Followed by another and another
Presents me with the most soothing of sounds
As it lulls me to sleep.