SINGLE MALT POEMS
SCOTCH AND SAKE
Instead of meditation, I like to drink.
Not cheap crap.
High priced stuff from the clearest mountain water
and finest Niigata rice.
Single malts distilled on those peaty little islands
off the bonny coast of Scotland.
The best thing about drinking expensive alcohol is you dont
have to sit for hours on an assnumbing
zazen cushion
waiting for reality to appear.
I like to pop an earthenware flask in the microwave for a couple
of minutes, or pour two fingers in a crystal glass.
Usually, its not long before everything starts coming together,
mind body spirit, all one.
Other times it happens even quicker.
Naturally, this kind of attitude annoys the purists.
Earnest young men and sharpeyed middle aged ladies
certain life is suffering, and the only way out
is even more suffering.
Likewise those tightassed priests and dyspeptic ministers
forever whining about the punishment God,
old Evil Eye,
hiding up there behind the clouds
indexing every bad thing we do.
Apparently none of this do right mob have thought carefully
about whats really going on in this world.
Theyve all been too busy trying to save themselves for the next
world to appreciate life right here,
right now.
Reality doesnt keep a score sheet.
Were free to find out who we really are without a capital conviction
hanging over our heads.
Frightend minds are like fish swimming in dirty water, where they themselves
produce the pollution.
And thats why I prefer booze to religion.
No guilt. No effort.
All the enlightenment I need.
