Triumphant Bunny

How yummy is this writing after meditating. Spira’s fish-tank is trickling — a glorified mechanical fountain, child-simple and child-pure, like an Easy Bake oven. The bunny, Spira’s bunny, has been munching all morning.

My heart just opens when I behold this stupid fuzzy creature called Franky. I’m just aghast at how much my gut and heart opens like the Mediterranean sea when I behold this dumb bunny. munching forever. unaware of my adoration.

This morning I woke up in despair, again, entertaining disappointments of varying shapes and sizes . Then I tried to wrestle them, gently — tried to shape them into something wonderful, or just something neutral. But they’d been fired and glazed.

Then I sat in front of Spira’s mechanical fountain raining into a water-world where its only inhabitant, a teensy slip of florescence, shimmied — and I meditated. And what liberated me from my sorrow and my anger and my fear was this resolve: “I am going to be angry and bored today.” And as the fishtank trickled and hummed, as the bunny munched, this resolve went ricocheting through my system like a pinball lighting up all of the different departments of awareness.

Franky is lying on top of his munchables, sleeping. He will awake from his nap and munch once more. How sweet, how depressing, how triumphant. The bunny, the fish, the meg. munching, shimmying and seething. and boredom opens onto the Mediterranean — sparkling and wild, this inhale. And I rise and feel my feet on the ground, stack my bones to unfurl myself into my full height and walk to the kitchen to click the fire beneath the teapot.

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