Not myself,
but Maria,
who, when her work is done,
tunes in the radio,
goes out into the garden,
picks up the front feet of the little dog Ricky,
and dances. She dances.
A Buddhist reflection on this poem might go like this:
Maria dances, I am dancing.
Dogs dance, I am dancing too.
I dance, I am not dancing.
Yesterday buildings in Japan swayed to the rhythm of the earth's tectonic plates dancing over the surface of the earth.
People scream in Japan, I am screaming.
Dogs and people die in the floods, I am dying
I die, I am living.
My prayer today is to find a way to dance though the work is never done, to die so that others may live, and to live well to make sense of, and honor others' death and suffering.
How will you dance today? Die today? Live today?
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