The aid agency

Is this Zazen, or a poem? Perhaps it is too hard to tell...

So, here we are, talking about Zazen, with the spectral analysis machine hanging over us and asking us by what standards do we judge?

To which we can only say: we don’t judge anything; we have a committee for all that.

A committee, you say?

Yes, a real committee of one, that can say no, any time at all.

Is this Zazen?

If it’s not, then I don’t really know what it is.

How would you sum that up?

I guess it’s just something more for today.

We are not here to cure you, you know.

I’ve had that suspicion for a while now.

And who are you today?

I can hear birds twittering.

As can I; now that you mention it.

Does that mean what I think it does?

Perhaps it is just another one of your beliefs.

How many times do I have to believe all these things before I just turn away?

What a most perplexing question.

Is it so hard to believe?

I’m not sure if it is fine dining, but until I am sure, I will consider letting it have a table down at the back, there where the lights are low.

Under the tables there were many secret agents recoding all that was being said into the blues and sending it out as snake droplets to be inhaled to send you to the moon and back on a rainbow, until you are quite gone.

We shall just have to go around in circles until he comes back again.

Oh, please let us not go around in circles anymore, my head is spinning.

Did I not tell you that I am not the aid agency?

What are you then?

Maybe I am the wind in your sails.

And if not?

Then I must surely be the song in your heart.

Come around later at half past midnight, and bring a bottle of wine.

I can do that.

Picture from Pixabay