sleepy moon

I was sleep-walking under the light of the moon, 10am. Every other customer faster than me. Earlier, it’s so dark, there’s me, mountainous form, straight up on orange zafu, on old, green army blanket I’ve hauled across all these states, over and over and over. Sitting over and over and over. Staring into an empty space, sitting still doing nothing 30+ minutes and then the deep gratitude – here’s me vowing to be available to everyone else.

I’ve begun a second 30-minute sitting, Zoom, White Heron Sangha, five days a week, cause there’s the YMCA whispering the other two. Now in the thrift-shop chair, eyes lowered, cosmic mudra – it’s a finger-laid-on-finger-thing – Hewlett-Packard monitor silent as a mirror. Central Coast cats chat it up after, I quit math in the ninth grade. But see the kitty on that lady’s couch.

There’s a Koan – ‘A solitary boat without oars making its way in the moonlight.’ Like little Stevie Wonder shouting, “Everybody say ya!” Like the yowling bob-tailed tiger cat on my trailer park route, “meoh, MEoh, MEOW!!!” When the alone-me is with the alone-bob-tail, where’s all the alone? And all the us? Like they say, when there’s hot chocolate, the whole universe is hot chocolate.

Yeah, it’s a good bet you find me sleep-walking. And a good bet the moon’ll be watching up there somewhere. Making its way.