Thursday, October 7, 2010
Serenity: Twenty One.
The Master welcomes mosquitoes and allows them to feed.
Others think him mad.
Others itch and scratch,
While The Master remains serene.
Mosquitoes. Who could like them?
I have never met anyone who does.
I have come to see mosquitoes as things of fragile beauty.
Teachers who teach without teaching.
Like anyone, I used to jump up and down, swatting and cursing.
Then I would itch, and then I would scratch.
Now I share my blood with them: realizing I have plenty to share.
I wait for them to finish, since to interrupt might injure or kill.
And now I do not itch.
And now I do not scratch.