i walked out on
the edge of the Bay
in the street behind me the
horrible breathing of
a leaf blower
I come, searching for
silence but
can’t escape what is
three little brown ground squirrels feeding
in the grass don’t seem bothered maybe
their tiny ears can only hear their munching on
the grasses
what is the prison I
am trying to escape? Why can’t things be different?
Where is my silence?
my teacher is speaking...
participate in whatever you hear, whatever
thoughts and feelings that arise
whatever the perception of this
very moment
don’t hope for things to get better!
it is only in this moment that
anything is real…
eight cyclists ride by
a group of men on a bench are talking
one of them sneezes,
loudly
—Bruce Linton
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