Kent says, "Alan Watts." Referring to my posting yesterday [though I wrote this Wednesday, blogger was down for maintenance when I tried to post]. "You remind me of a Taoist," he says. "The Buddhist and the Taoist are sitting, meditating. The Taoist gets bored, stretches his legs, scratches his butt, goes his way." Then he says, "The cat watches the bird in the tree intently. Watches it with acute concentration. Then the cat figures out that there's no way he's going to get that bird so goes on to the next thing."

K is down on my lack of discipline. He lectures, this man. He has these firm ideas. And firm ideas always take me aback. Like they must be important because the voice that declares them is certain and knows. I don't know. That's what I am. An I-don't-know, an uncertain. And that's what my voice comes out like. With pauses. Hesitating.

My mother got exercised once about her sister having left some Reader's Digest-like Christian tract in her house after a visit. The little book was held open, face down. I remember my mother showing me the article thus marked. "Demonstrate by your way of living the Truth of Christ's teaching, so that they will be impressed by your serenity, your purpose in daily life and will ask about it." I'm paraphrasing of course. Anyway, Mom was incensed, as though Sister had been proselytizing Mother, had been doing the hard sell. Well, thought I, this seems the softest sell of all. Leaving a book face down. Maybe Sis forgot it? Altogether innocently? And the whole example thing. Means one has to be the example others seek to emulate. Live the life others envy.

Mr Discipline? Hello?

It's always at first I feel inferior. Stupid. OK. That's the way my brain works. After awhile. The accrual of things. I am this. He can think his things. And prescribe, taking out his you-should pen and scratching oughts on my forehead. Which will fade. Or perhaps he will read them once writ. And take them to heart. Take them back. Into his heart. And live in accordance with his precepts.