For Years I Tried To Become A Buddhist


For years I tried to become a Buddhist
Fascinated with its harsh simplicity,
How it all points back to one.

Such is the way,
The path to enlightenment
That the young rich boy embarked upon,
Shunning his worldly possessions for want of nothing.

Even the river,
The water,
The rocks,
All metaphor,
Not real.

Nirvana is not a place.
It’s more a band,
Defiling their instrument,
In angst.

Their song wails the ultimate irony:
That one cannot have and want at the same time.
That one cannot wear flannel and smell of teen spirit.

It’s one or the other,
And if you want the middle, buddy,
You’re going to have to abandon
Your love of hate,
Your hate of anger,
Your anger of fear.

You’ve known it all along,
And yet,
You haven’t let go,
Of it.

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