a memory blowing in from the east

Thanks for the gift, James. 

Just about everything in life is a blessing, in some way. 

A lesson. A gift. 

Including the dust and dirt on the floor?

I am thinking that while I vacuum. 

Perhaps the gift is this; I still have the strength 

To clean, and enough spirit to still care. 

I can live with that, I think, 

And I move another chair out of my way. 

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Love. Hope. Empathy. These things don't need a reason to exist. They just.... are.

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A righteous soul, indeed—

To not seek Satori, only service.

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The morning passes. I drain 

the last of the coffee in one long swallow. 

Aaah. 

It is a plain coffee mug, brown, no witty sayings 

or clever pictures adorn it. How long have I had it? 

Twenty years? No, more like twenty-five. 

Memory returns, like a weather front. 

"Folks, here we have a memory blowing in from the east; 

expect a lot of thoughts."

I brought this mug in Sacramento a quarter-century ago, 

as part of a kit for making one cup of drip-coffee at a time. 

In my house, I was the only coffee drinker then, 

and I was always on the run, a quick cup 

and then out the door. 

Decades slipped away, many days much like this morning. 

The kids grew, and at some point began drinking coffee. 

In middle age, my wife took to coffee as well, 

and so a large coffee-maker moved in to stay.

Now the house is quiet and often empty, 

but for me. And I often sip coffee all day long. 

Through the years, the old brown mug remained. 

I hold it up and examine it, not a crack, 

not a chip. 

I set the coffee mug on the air, as if 

an invisible shelf was there before me, 

that only I could see. The mug floats there 

at eye level. 

The morning passes. 

My, my - how grand is life? 

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A ladybug crawls on a blade of grass.

What about it? Everything.

The universe itself is a part of the moment.

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A lot of people just passed this night in the cold.

A morning prayer for them.

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james lee jobe 

Wayne Shorter & Herbie Hancock in concert

Please support this blog with a small donation through the the Buy Me A Coffee link at the bottom of the page. Thanks.

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LINK: A Lesson from my Father about Electricity, a poem by Monica Rico

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Permanent good can never be the outcome of untruth and violence.  

Mahatma Gandhi

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We often become our kindest, most ethical selves only by seeing what it feels like to be a selfish jackass first.

Cheryl Strayed

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jlj