Music Monday: Vesak song

Today is the first full moon in May so it is Vesak, the celebration of the birth of the Buddha. Although Buddhist teachings and the Dhammapada are part of my spiritual practice, I don't actually know many Buddhist songs. Please feel free to enlighten me if there is Buddhist inspired music you enjoy.

Today's word is: Buddha

Comm shot out: endings

Watch on YouTube

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18. What's something uncomfortable but you feel everyone should experience at least once in their life?

Skydiving! I also think we all need to have our blind spots and biases pointed out (as gently and as lovingly as possible) in order to discard them or work through them (however slowly).



( Full list of 3Weeks4Dreamwith questions )

My poem: Stacy

[This is modeled after "Pantoum of the Great Depression" by Donald Justice and the prompt was: name.]

Stacy by okapi

I have the better name, I think,
Wheeling the cart into the lane,
As she waits and I steer clumsily. There. Her badge.
I unload cans of beans and bananas.

Wheeling the cart into the lane,
She says ‘Hi!’ I want to snatch her badge as
I unload cans of beans and bananas.
Just reach across and grab it off her chest.

She says ‘Hi!’ I want to snatch her badge as
I pretend to be normal. I pretend that I do not want to
Just reach across and grab it off her chest.
I say ‘Hi,’ too, and push the empty cart through.

I pretend to be normal. I pretend that I do not want what
I want. A badge, a smock, a thick wrist brace.
I say ‘Hi,’ too, and push the empty cart through
And out the other side. On the conveyor belt,

I want a badge, a smock, a thick wrist brace.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” she says, tapping my pink sugar shame in
And out the other side on the conveyor belt
Of late-stage capitalism, “That they made these. Cute.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” she says, tapping my pink sugar shame with
a well-manicured nail. What? That we are the same pawn
Of late-stage capitalism? That they made these cute?
Same doughy face, same frizzled hair, same save for

a well-manicured nail. What we are: the same. Pawn-
awkward patter, fleecy chatter,
same doughy face, same frizzled hair, same save for
our sides of the cart. But then, even

Awkward patter, fleecy chatter
Must come to an end. I know that one last look at
our sides of the cart. But then even
the cart is full again and rolling towards the door

It must come to an end. I know that. One last look. And
As she waits and I steer clumsily. There. Her badge.
The cart is full again and pointing towards the door.
I have the better name, I think.

And that is no consolation, except in poetry.