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I have been reading on Buddhism To deal with the dark in me.
To be a good father to you And nourish the cactus blossom you are, Lucia.
To teach you to keep your thorny spines intact And alert for unwanted intruders,
To open your soul and heart to sun each morning As if it were the first time opening,
First time seeing,
Touching and hearing the world.
Yesterday We turned the garden hose on and I sprayed you and Esai,
You stood under the arc of bright water opened your arms under the umbrella of flashing waterfall and embraced each droplet with gusto, with dancing and spinning and running laughter,
while I thought of the floods in Pakistan five million homeless, farmers committing suicide,
while corporations buy up every acre to plant one type of corn, one type of beet, one type of strawberry-
when what your soul tells me is life is varied and multiplies a thousand times a minute into unique and singular blossoms of being,
your essence my sweet child,
is the wind-shredded tip of a prayer flag, wind snapping with innocent joy at the cold summit.
As if people were not starving, as if whole communities were not wiped out,
As if one hundred and fifty Mexican women were not raped yesterday by the cartels,
As if one's Hollywood ego was more important than life, than breath, than soul-
And I hear my friends saying, But Jimmy, the world has to go on,
Despite people wanting to deny the mosque so close to ground zero 9/11 site,
Despite 6000 murders in Juarez from Sinaloa/Juarez cartel madmen,
Despite all the cringing and gear-grinding mayhem In the blood and home filled streets Most of us react like cooing rooftop cage pigeons,
afraid of angering the award-givers, the approval-givers the acceptance-givers.
(Take for instance Seattle's Mexican slave trade,
it's booming, bigger than the gold rush,
"Get the Mexican 2 for 1 special”).
I know, just ignore it as most do, close my mind and heart to it.
After months of not mowing the lawn, I start up the lawnmower And while you sit under the patio umbrella and watch me, Lucia Everything is as it should be-the weeds, the tall grass, you sipping Your lemonade, the sun in the blue sky,
you don't ask why so many weeds,
Why hasn't the lawn been cut all summer,
Just as when you change clothes a dozen times Or you dance to your music in the sunroom,