Take Comfort. Take Care.

Robert Ronnow
Ever Maddening Mandala

Take Comfort. Take Care.

I take comfort in knowing it’s going
to your daily discipline to see what happens
next that counts. Sitting still ten minutes
without a thought or want. A brutal winter,
subzero temps across the continent
followed by heat emergencies and water
shortages in city after city.

That we won’t live forever and that it
was pointless to try makes no nevermind.
When I’m bored or dreary I dust the house
and clean the bathroom on my knees. For me,
this is prayer, practice and purpose. Meditate
on this: Thy will will not be done. And still
your heart can ache from too much prowess.

I’ve long longed for dispassion, disinterest
and indifference to the joy of living,
an impersonal, intergalactic,
patient confusion. Our particular war
or total war, light snow. I’m pretty sure
I have no soul, little Krshnas and
Kachinas nesting inside one another.

Situation comedy, daytime soap
or samurai trilogy, events
in their mere chronology make no sense.
The proxy wars and civil wars go on.
I ply my arts all day alone. No harm
or good I did is noticed. Elections
are held without my vote solicited.

I executed my plan to explore
death without dying, grief without crying,
life without work, quiet reality
without my participation. Death is
indifferent to what hide it tans. I’m actually
afraid to stop writing, afraid to get shot
and therefore cannot comfort or help.

Wherever you go, take care, best intentions
may contribute to the worst outcomes.
That’s no answer. I’ve made mistakes but
I don’t know if I’d call them big mistakes
since events keep piling up. If you had
one week or month or year to live would your
daily discipline be any different?