Bucky Ball

High in the mountains, breathing a winter sun . . . the wind is light-footed here like a monk going through the narrow lanes of mundane. Nothing except the prayer flags move as I follow the tabby cat who moonlights as a Zen master on her less busy days.

‘Lots of space, nothing holy,’ she finally breaks the silence ‘that’s what enlightenment is.’

I am a bit baffled with her mongrel diction, but then she does have nine lives over me.

‘Isn’t every vacancy filled in by something else? Create a vacuum and the universe rushes to fill it.’ I say ‘So by extension wouldn’t a renunciation be replenished by the holy?’

‘Too many question. Far too many.’ She chastises snapping at an imaginary sparrow, then adds ‘And that might just be the reason, why you would find enlightenment a bit out of reach. But then probably you are better off. Enlightenment is the ultimate disappointment.’

empty spaces
the wind too
howls in protest

Paresh Tiwari

Bucky Ball

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