Well, it’s obvious who’s been meditating more,
me or my cat. I can’t remember the last time
I sat on this cushion. Organic cotton. Unbleached.
But the cat, well, apparently she is nearing nirvana.
Based on thick layer of gray and black hair,
she’s clearly sat here for hours, perhaps contemplating
nothing as I have often strived to do. Striving for nothing.
The paradox is not lost on me. The cushion, however,
has been essentially lost. Not once have I thought of it
in months, did not consider it at all as it quietly
waited there with its company of dust bunnies.
It seems content enough. I vacuum it off, but I do not sit,
oh no, there is much too much to do, like clean
the meditation cushion, top and bottom. Who
could possibly sit on a day such as this, the house
full of clutter and a cat box to empty, the yard
full of weeds, the day full of marvels
and swervings and oh, just look at that blue.