Neruda's Grave

"Talk to us, Master, it is so lonely here on this shelf."

The items for sale are speaking to the grocer

As he stocks the shelves one by one.

They have questions about the strength of the world.

His rough fingers are people, too,

And they cast shadows of their own.

It is late at night and the store is closed.

The items come to life in the darker hours,

And they have little voices, squeaky voices,

Like those elves in Northern fairy tales.

What people do is sometimes the definition of who they are,

Or of what they might become, but not always.

The grocer has a heart and answers the items as he stocks.

There is a world beyond this store, he tells them,

And it is huge and beautiful. You'll see some of it one day,

When you are coming closer to your own end. 

James Lee Jobe

When you don't understand, you depend on reality. When you do understand, reality depends on you.

Bodhidharma

I bought this house because I can smell 

Pablo Neruda’s grave from here. This house

is near the Pacific Ocean  

and often a strong wind blows in 

from the other hemisphere. On the windiest days 

I re-read Canto General and consider 

changing my name, or shaving my head, 

or both. I am an old man; thinking 

of these things help me sleep.

James Lee Jobe

If you want to know your past, look at your present circumstances. If you want to know your future, look at what is in your mind.

Matthieu Riccard, “Karma Crossroads”

That I might always remember to be grateful, and to show my gratitude. That I might always remember to seek out the good when bad things happen, and to be grateful for those things. That I might always remember to seek out the good that I can do myself.

James Lee Jobe

Albert King - Born Under A Bad Sign

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