There is no silence
in this world of music
the music of noise
and melody

But the mind knows
that at the root
of all this world's forms
is a deep silence

Which I hear
always, through the power
of Buddha-Dharma

Which tells me
that all of this firework
every-which form
is none other than nothing

And my eyes
see the Earth dissolve
into a blankness
which is not happy or sad

So back to the circus
of every-which form
where my computer hums
out of the silence.

The grey October day
shows me a tree
outside my window
which holds golden-brown leaves
and towering spires
of white leaves
(or so it seems)
that I have never seen
before
and the left hand
is steady and still
with first and middle fingers
on one side
of my notebook
and the left thumb on top
as the right hand fingers
move along quickly
across this lined page.

I am writing
with my common ground pen
a poem
for five minutes
about right now
as the computer tower hums
and my Pendleton overshirt
rests on the black vinyl chair
with both feet parallel
firmly placed on the colorful
carpet
and the lights of green
of the high-speed internet
connection
turned-on
and I sit facing the green
wooden desk
which comes apart
into three
as the mind seems to be
focused on a visual and auditory
experience
of being.

My blond hair
parts on the right
and is straight
and thin.

My tan hair
is cut by a yogi
who has colon cancer
and I miss her.

My shorter hair
was very long
in the days of yore
like the sixties.

My brownish hair
once was
like short hair
that is in style
today
except with
butch wax
to make the front
stand up.

The tan hair
of the ladies
attracts me
especially
if it is
long and curly.

The blond hair
of my father
turned white
in his old age
but he
kept saying
that it
was blond.

What has hair
got to do
with it?
Heaven only
knows.

Life is
being
a being
in a big place
doing one thing
after another
for about eighty years.
Mystery solved!

Sitting here
in my computer chair
I straighten my back
and put my hands
in a unique position
at my belly
with my breath
filling it up
and on the exhale
pulling the belly in and in
tighter and tighter
until all air is gone
and then I do it again.

All alternative therapies
and all religious practices
may be placebos,
like we might as well
drink sugar water,
but we shouldn't forget
that a placebo
sometimes is a cure,
simply because we believe.