TUESDAY TRUTH: MISS MUFFET

She is anything but little, huge wouldn’t be a gross overstatement. And I suppose you could call a overstuffed brocade cushion a tuffet if you stumbled here out of the Nineteenth century. And just for the record, she was munching on a well-aged brie and sucking down a Courvoisier-laced Greek yogurt smoothie. Oh, yes, did I mentioned she had been twice married to older men, one dead with two months of the wedding, the other divorced when his heart refused to give out on her schedule. So, Miss Muffet, I don’t think so. I didn’t sit down beside her, she plopped down on the edge of an intricate web I’d been working on for weeks. I barely got out before I was six microns under. So, at best she sat down next to me. And she left once she’d stuffed her face full of cheese, downed her smoothie, and left both her wrapper and cup on the ground for someone else to pick up, she pranced away, never even noticing me. And there, as Paul Harvey used to say, you have the rest of the story.

WEB

It has far less to do
with the casting of the net,
far more to do
with the reeling it in.
The spider wishes
to work in peace weaving
her web, does not desire
to be seen.
For her this is work
and it is not until done,
or as done as she chooses,
that she can sit at its hub.
Spiders are patient,
much like fishermen,
knowing time is not
the enemy but
merely a construct
to mark the space
between now and
the catch,
from which both
spider and fisherman
derive life.

BUDDHIST ENTOMOLOGY

One of the hardest things
about being a Buddhist
are the insects.
Setting aside their sentiency,
insects are a true test
of our ability to honor
the first of the four vows,
for while moths
can be captured in cupped hands,
the karmic dilemma
of how to deal with a spider
that refuses to crawl
onto the waiting piece of paper
and requires you to sacrifice
one or more of its legs
thus condemning it to a life
of unbalanced webs
leaves you Sekiso’s man
at the top
of the hundred foot pole.