Arthur’s Mighty Zen Pt 2

Part 2

A few days later I found out

It was Arthur

Who saved my foot,

Not the doctors.

Instead of cutting it off

Like they’d planned 

When they first saw

What a mess it was,

They changed their minds pronto when 

Arthur used his shall we say powers of persuasion

To convince them of the wisdom 

In doing otherwise!

“Or else, pal!” added Arthur threateningly

As he raised his mighty fist.

Boy! You should have heard Arthur 

Give the doctors a piece of his mind!

Said the boys who’d helped 

Get me to hospital that day.

Funny, but now they were proud 

Of the terrible gang boss they once feared.

Oh! The contradictions of life!

Anyway, they told me all about it.

“Arthur was never 

More magnificent!” they bragged.

“You should have heard him curse!

The bleedin sawbones wasn’t ready 

For a bleedin bastard like our Arthur!” they laughed.

“And within seconds they was 

Shifting their asses good and proper

To save you and your bleedin foot!”

Then, with a rare sense 

Of respect they added,

“That Arthur! He sure showed them!”

Arthur visited me in hospital 

Every week that summer.

One time I asked him why 

He was so tough 

On me in the beginning.

“The men had to see 

That I showed no favorites,” he answered,

Only with more curse words.

Then he looked directly at me 

From under his massive brows, and slowly smiled.

“And I wanted you to learn,” he added,

“To stand on your own two feet.”

Then he roared with laughter!

“Shhhh,” hissed the nurse

Who’d come running.

“Quiet! This is a hospital!”

“Shit!” answered Arthur, a little embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Like all healthy men, 

Arthur despised the hospital.

And I think he was a little

Intimidated by the nurse, too.

I know I was.

“Well, take it easy, mate,” he said. 

Then he left.

Next visit Arthur brought me books to read.

Which surprised me because

Before the accident 

Arthur used to make fun of me 

About my reading,

Calling me a bookworm 

And an egghead, etc,

Only with more cursing.

So I asked him why.

“I never finished grade school,” he said quietly.

“So I don’t read too good.”

He looked me in the eye and added,

“I was afraid you’d laugh.”

Oh! The similarities of life!

I’d feared him for his language.

He’d feared me for my learning.

He never mentioned saving my foot.

When I tried to thank him,

He told me with a laugh 

To shove it up my ass!

“Them dumb doctors!” he spat.

“They don’t know shit!”

Then to change the subject 

He cursed doctors ferociously

For about ten minutes,

Hardly stopping for breath.

I listened in awe.

He’s been dead a long time,

Arthur the gang boss.

Killed in an accident 

A few years later

When a Caterpillar D-9

Ran off its own tracks

And tumbled down an embankment.

Arthur was standing at the bottom

Of the embankment, 

Urinating against a bush.

They say he never knew what hit him.

But I wouldn’t know.

I’d already left by then

To begin my journey as an artist.

Sometimes I wonder where Arthur is now.

I hope he’s happy.

And not squashed too flat

By the bulldozer to enjoy the afterlife.

Because I owe him a lot.

A lot he wouldn’t want, probably.

And instead of sentimental horse shit 

Like saying you’re welcome,

He would probably suggest 

Most strongly that I shove it!

Way up where the sun don’t shine!

So from the year 2016,

Arthur, you son of a bitch,

Wherever you are, 

From the bottom of my heart

As I stand upon my own two feet,

One of which you 

Jumped into a shitty ditch

In order to save…

I thank you!

I love you.

You big son-of-a-bitch.

Arthur’s Mighty Zen

When I was a lad,

It seems a thousand centuries ago

But really it was 1969,

I began my working life

At the bottom 

Of a road construction ditch.

I was a navvy.

Better known today 

As a manual laborer.

I shoveled the shit 

That had accumulated within the ditch.

From the bottom of it 

To the top.

And sometimes vice versa.

Our gang boss was named Arthur.

He was the toughest boss there was!

He was feared by all,

For he could be a violent man

When he felt he’d been disrespected.

Or when the men slacked off too much.

Or if he just happened to be feeling that way.

Yes! He was ready with his fists!

His language was fierce too,

The most ferocious at the depot,

(And although I’m tempted for old time’s sake)

Too ferocious to repeat here.

Adding to his reputation 

As one tough son-of-a-bitch gang boss 

Who didn’t take any crap 

From anybody!

A reputation of which he was proud.

When I first began working 

In the ditches 

I was sixteen-years-old.

Still a schoolboy really.

I hadn’t spent much time 

In the company of grown men yet,

And hadn’t begun to understand their ways.

So I was afraid of Arthur.

He detected this, and seeing the men saw it also,

For he was very observant 

And always conscious of being the boss,

He treated me with extra hostility,

As if to break my spirit

And bend me to his will.

To show me who was the boss.

And he made sure the men saw it!

“Watch out for Arthur.”

They warned me.

“He’s a mean one.”

Then one day while 

Shoveling you-know-what from the ditches,

I was struck in the foot with a pick.

It bled terribly and hurt like hell!

The pick had stuck in my foot

And wouldn’t come out,

Much to the amusement of my workmates

Standing in the muddy ditch with me,

Who didn’t immediately comprehend

The severity of the situation.

I didn’t either, never having been struck 

In the foot with a pick before,

And I laughed and pointed, saying,

“Somebody take a picture!”

And other witty nonsense

As my boot filled with blood.

Not Arthur, though.

He understood right away.

And he did something about it!

He jumped into the ditch,

Pushing the other workers aside,

And hoisted me out.

Then without removing the pick 

He applied a tourniquet above my ankle

With the sweaty bandana from round his neck,

After ordering one of the men to fetch 

His goddamned truck and be quick about it

So he could take me to hospital.

That’s when I passed out.

I awoke in hospital.

All clean and warm and dry.

My foot throbbed a little.

But otherwise I felt fine.

“Bless you,” I said to those 

Around me dressed in white, 

Feeling very grateful

To the doctors.

They just smiled and took my pulse.

“You’ll be okay, you little shit!”

Said Arthur when he came

To visit me the next day.

He didn’t say anything else

About my accident,

And when I tried to say something

To thank him for his help,

He wouldn’t allow that, either.

“Shut your freakin cake hole,” 

Was how he put it.

Only with more curse words.

Way more.

“Forget it!” he added.

Then he left.

To be continued...

How Much Zen Is There in a Raindrop?

How Much Zen Is There in a Raindrop?

How much zen is there in a raindrop?

Asked one of my students.

(For I’ve collected a few

From time to time

As I’ve gone along.)

Well? he insisted.

How much?

He’s an insistent little so-and-so,

I’ll say that much for him.

But his zen is pure.

He avoids pornography and doesn’t drink to excess.

He has other good qualities too, of course.

Those just happened to come to mind.

“Hmmm,” I answered.

“Let me think about it.”

So I thought about it.

Every day the insistent student would come round 

And ask about the raindrop.

Come back tomorrow, I always said.

Rain or shine, every day he came.

After a few months he stopped coming every day.

Instead he came every couple of days,

Asking about the raindrop.

Then once a week came he.

Once a fortnight.

Once a month.

His visits became irregular and widely spaced in time.

Then he stopped coming altogether.

He sent me a letter.

(He’d moved out of state.)

How much raindrop zen is there?

Asked he in this letter.

I answered asking for more time to consider.

And so we exchanged letters.

We corresponded thus for a few years.

Exchanging news, sharing our lives.

He got married, started a family, bought a Prius.

Finally, the insistent student, 

After nearly five years of waiting for my answer,

Has given up.

He isn’t so insistent anymore.

His most recent letter did not mention the raindrop.

It spoke of his love for his family and his goals for the future.

How his twin daughters are growing up so quickly!

The family dog had had an operation, too.

But Fido was doing fine now.

It was a good letter,

Written from the heart,

And filled with zen.

Everything is good, he wrote, 

Adding in his final paragraph,

I can’t complain.

Aha, I thought, 

There’s the zen of it!

He was a good student, but

Boy, did he have to learn the hard way!

Live as Your Zen Commands

Life is painful.

On that we all agree

No one made it that way on purpose.

That’s just the way it is.

Full of pain and frustration.

One of the reasons it is painful

Is because we desire too much.

And our desires being unfulfilled we feel pain.

You see?

Simple.

You want it.

You cannot have it.

You are disappointed.

Disappointment hurts.

That’s the zen of it!

So give up your desires!

Don’t be a slave to your longings!

Quit wanting stuff!

We’re destroying our planet with our Narcissistic materialism anyway

And, let’s face it, our greed.

For how much crap does one person need?

When others are doing without?

Or going hungry?

I have an idea.

Maybe we could try living as our zen commands.

Living the way we know to be right.

With kindness towards ourselves and others.

And a calm understanding that sees us through.

Let’s remember that life is crazy!

So don’t worry too much about it.

Laugh at it!

Laugh good and hard. 

And try living with less consumerism.

Because it’s destroying our humanity and our environment. 

Finally, cope as best as you can

With the vicissitudes of this life.

For it won’t last forever.

I didn’t say it would be easy.

It’s not an easy thing to be a zen man.

Or a zen woman.

Millions and millions of us are attempting it.

But believe me.

It’s worth it.

When you now and then succeed.

Zen For Breakfast

Zen For Breakfast

And now for that very zen-like of questions.

Which came first?

The chicken or the egg?

Or should I say

The egg or the chicken,

Just to be fair?

My zen doesn’t care.

Either way is fine.

You see,

With zen, although not strictly necessary,

It helps to be a vegetarian. 

As long as there’s some hot tea

And a little muesli or fruit for breakfast,

With some zen to be found close by,

(In a garden perhaps)

I’m happy.

So who cares about chickens?

Or their eggs?

Forget it!

Still hungry?

Of course you are.

We all are at times.

That’s human nature.

So go ahead.

Help yourself.

Zen will nourish you for the journey ahead.

I say again to help yourself!

No need to go hungry.

Help yourself to all the zen you need.

There’s plenty for everybody!

Oh, and don’t forget.

Please remember to mindfully enjoy 

The banquet of life 

Spread before you.

How Much Zen Does a Squirrel Have?

How much zen 

Does a squirrel have?

A squirrel, for those of you

Not from around here,

(And let’s face it.

How could you all be from around here?

That would be impossible.

Somebody has to be from somewhere else.)

A squirrel is a type of crepuscular

(Look it up.

I had to.)

Rodent.

It rather resembles a large rat, but with a bushy tail.

I hope that helps.

No matter where you’re from,

On this earth or off it,

You probably know a rat when you meet one.

Anyway, about the squirrel.

How much zen does it have?

Does it have any more than a beetle?

Or a whale?

Or me?

Or a rat?

Hmmm.

There is an unlimited amount of zen in the universe.

Of that I am certain.

So I don’t suppose it matters

How much zen a squirrel might have.

I remind you again that there is plenty of zen in this universe!

Plenty for everybody.

So don’t be afraid.

Go ahead.

Use all you want.

The squirrels won’t miss it.

My Zen is All Around Me

My zen is all around me.

It is everywhere and never-ending.

It was there at the beginning.

It’ll be there at the …

Oops! I almost forgot.

No ending. 

It is big yet small.

Shallow yet deep.

Hot yet cold.

Sweet yet tart.

All this and more is my zen.

It is everything.

Yours is too.

Because they are the same thing,

Your zen and mine.

Now that we have recognized in each other our kindred zen,

Making us brothers and sisters,

Let us ponder together.

Hmmmm.

Do you agree that everything within our comprehension, 

Whatever it might be,

Exists within our minds?

That all one’s experiences are stored there?

Whether real or imagined?

That is where everything exists, isn’t it?

Inside the mind of the comprehender?

Okay.

We agree.

It’s simple really.

All things are possible with zen.

But it is difficult

For zen to exist

Within the mind of a numbskull.