I think this photo says it all.
Somewhere outside Kyoto’s line, she said,
they stumbled across the famous garden of moss,
the smallish sign so plain it could have been
overlooked. No temple, only moss.
So they entered the walkway with little expectation,
the silence creeping in, much like expectation.
Instead of leading them to the garden directly,
two monks had led them to a different task,
requested they copy three hundred characters,
the ink and paper set down for the task.
And this, too, was a practiced form of prayer,
left behind for those who had forgotten prayer.
The monks left brushes, ink, and bowls of water.
They asked the seekers to write, to pray. But prayer,
any prayer, wasn’t easy. The brush and ink,
the doubting hand, made not for simple prayer.
And even as I write this, I do not want to pray.
This story changes nothing; I do not want to pray.
:: C. Dale Young, The Atlantic Monthly
I like hugs. You should give me some.
That is all.
I don’t think men realize how gassy the ladies can be. Sometimes, on a bad day, I feel like I need to apologize to the other women in the bathroom for the noises coming out of my body … but most times I just wait until everyone has left to come out of my stall.
Too much information? Maybe. Hilarity at my own expense? You bet.