I found out quickly that I had entered a place with entirely different notions about life purpose and productivity. Soon after I arrived I pointed out to a monk that a mosquito was sucking his blood. He nodded in acknowledgement and said something brief about the accumulation of merit and allowing another being to nourish itself off your own. (Luckily, we were in a region where the prevalence of malaria is low). \n<\/p>\n
The second day I was there, a monk took me to the local Indian restaurant. A fly fell into my daal. The monk’s reaction took me by surprise<\/font>. I wrote this poem about it.<\/p>\n
There are those who
When a fly drops Plop! into yellow daal
it is not their bowl of food they worry about.
It is the fly and her wings<\/a>
The ability of fire and spice
To sear wings
And with so much kindness
They place the fly in their palm
Unfold a white creased napkin
Clean the wings and the space
Between the wings
with water rinse away
Any hot yellowness
Place the fly gentle
On the edge of the table
Until
by the end
Of our meal
The fly has flown
made her way
Back into the world. [Link<\/a>]<\/blockquote>\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Whether sanctimoniously single or smugly encoupled, I find that most people suffer from a post-Valentines hangover. I don’t mean a literal hangover, although copious quantities of champagne are commonly consumed, I mean a reaction to the intensely saccharine and unidimensional … Continue reading