Jeff McCallum

Awfully Busy Now

One must trade something,

Perhaps as simple as time

To make the journey;

Plant the seed,

Tend the field, harvest the wheat,

Winnow,

Grind flour,

Knead dough,

Gather wood for the fire,

Bake the bread or trade something for it,

Perhaps as simple as time.

And should one acquire a taste for honey,

Desire marmalade or strawberry jam,

There will be more gardens to tend,

More time to find and barter away,

More disappointment to face even

On the meditation journey to immortal happiness.

My fellows,

My friends,

Shall I come with sandals and robe,

Thrust forward the bowl of my heart

Trust it will be filled, as will my belly,

Or wait on anonymous street corners for

Strangers to pass, drop dollars and dimes,

Trading my time for their indulgence.

May I bake at your hearth,

Break my bread at your table;

Offer silence,

Kind words, good intension,

A strong back in exchange?

Who will shelter the un-ordained;

The seeking soul,

The traveler contaminated with a lust

For honey?

Shall he live in a box,

Sleep on a bench,

Read by street light,

Meditate in the warmth of the library on cold northern days

Or trade;

Trade until the cupboard is bare,

Intention a memory,

The back no longer strong,

Kind words become bitter

Or too close to the truth

And only strangers fill the bowl,

Offer alms out of goodness or guilt,

Turns their eyes as they pass the homeless old person

Meditating their way to immortal joy.