I am at the hospice listening to cricket
Where boundaries are being scored at will
The taxi driver has asked me to wait here
Just in case you thought I was seeking respite
My mind goes into a riot when I see the young man
Come out of the building to embrace his partner and child
All are smiles and hugs and laughter
What should I make of such joviality, other than admiration
In readiness for our small meditation sangha
I listen to the monks of Plum Village sing and chant
I think of the brethren who reside there
And in other such organisations around the world
I wonder that I never joined such a place
Instead I have kept myself to myself
Yes, it is true that I have visited monasteries
And taken part in silent retreats
Yet I have not gone so far as joining a community
Nor have I ever taken up with a sect of any kind
But right now, as I imagine they sit together for supper
There is a part of me which says that it is a pity, a waste even
That I have not been an integral part of such a collective
Of course one does doubt the capability of one’s memory
Perhaps focussing too too sharply on the forgetfulness
Or just needing a wee bit more time to remember
Where time wasn’t ever required, not in the past
Yesterday, through half of this low-lying county
The fields were flooded
The roads had standing water
Yet who will remember how the land was reclaimed
Who, in the future, will be able to organise the drainage
And who might play a role in that useful purpose
Of course one doesn’t doubt about one’s ability to help
Nor does one wish to be sidelined, or to be kept out of the way
Even if it is for the best, the best for everyone else that is
In which case maybe it is for the best to forget about one’s past
I have not been forced to change
For the last fifteen years or so I have been indulged
First at college, then with family, also in my workplace
If there has been change, and I think there has
Then the force for change has come from within
Or from what I have extracted from my environment
Yet I don’t recall setting out to change
Rather to learn, to experience, to feel, to think
And what of all that inexplicable labour
What rewards are in my mind, my body, my spirit, my soul
Could I now write about how good it feels to write
Could I now think about how good it feels to think
Could I now say with any certainty
That this journey was the pathway to have taken
So why do people sell me programs which require me to build a habit
Is it because they know that I don’t have the wherewithal to build a habit
Have they run my past life’s data through their computers, and concluded
Quite rightly, that I don’t have that what is needed to build a habit
In fact it is my opinion that not many people do have this faculty
I do further believe that my absent-minded laziness is not unusual
Indeed I would say that the ability to be distracted is rife in my community
And I think that always was the case, even as children we didn’t often listen
So why don’t the sellers change tack
And move away from an habit building business
You might well ask, just as in the past we asked about the snake oil sellers
Of course if the seller, can without doubt, blame the buyers for failure
Then has he not found the holy grail, money for old rope comes to mind
Though this time the buyer’s, himself or herself, have provided the rope
