patience

 

patience is the art of concealing your impatience.

                 ~  guy kawasaki

there are three things that cause me great consternation..

as far as my patience is concerned..

or rather my lack of patience 

or my failure at concealing impatience..

vacumn cleaner cords..

or cords of any kind, actually..

garden hoses,

and hangers.. all and every kind of hanger..

these all seem to get caught up within themselves

or other ends of themselves or others of like mind and shape..

i am shown in no uncertain terms the ignobility of my impatience..

my language becomes garbled, my face contorts into a mass of wrinkles, 

my voice raises 3 octaves, and my entire mellow nature melts into aaarrrrgh..

that is to say, it used to..

i have trained my shabby impatience to rise up! to rise up to higher ground..

now, when i encounter the encounters

of cords, hoses, and hangers..

i speak in honeyed tones and storytime intimacy...

as such :

ah! dearest hanger of the clan of hangers-on..

where are you running off to..

with your brothers and sisters in tow?

please come back to the fold..

please join in the queue..

or

of course, dear vacumn cord of wandering caught up ways..

let's get your legless thread out from under the chair, desk, bedstead

and find the clear path to cleanliness..

or

gardening hose of gathering water..

why tie yourself in knots over the flow of the universe?

let me unkink your body and mind so you are able

to pour forth freely

your wisdom and fresh wet essence..

these wee fairytales change my tight-talking mind 

into a humorous fable of spacious cascading lucidity..

and.. my dialogue is..ha! ha! so amusing to my very own self, 

that i end in laughter..

now though, there is another impatience..

the impatience of wanting things to be other than they are..

really?

why would i want that?

well......

because...

i would o so like to travel the highways and byways..

the airways and seawaves

my nomadic propensity is up in arms..

akimbo and askew..

even from the simplest,

the most realistic point of view,

the countries which we long for

occupy a far larger place 

in our actual life

than the country

in which we happen to be...

              marcel proust / swain's way

quite honestly, there is no where else to go..

this very land is the lotus land of purity..

this very body is the body of the buddha..

a whiplash of awakening and i see my faulty view..

until my longing (impatience) sets in yet again 

and i imagine a scene from the himalayas..

the coastline of crete,

the soup and ice cream of istanbul,

the monastery in upstate new york..

it's all in the mind

imagining is like feeling around

in a dark lane, or washing

your eyes with blood. 

you are the truth

from foot to brow. now, 

what else would you like to know?

                  ~ rumi

where else would you rather be?

okay already..

here now 

just this

as it is.. 

is now..

as it was in the beginning

now and ever shall be ~