SINGLE MALT POEMS

SCOTCH AND SAKE

Instead of meditation, I like to drink. Not cheap crap. High priced stuff from the clearest mountain water and finest Niigata rice. Single malts distilled on those peaty little islands off the bonny coast of Scotland. The best thing about drinking expensive alcohol is you dont have to sit for hours on an assnumbing zazen cushion waiting for reality to appear. I like to pop an earthenware flask in the microwave for a couple of minutes, or pour two fingers in a crystal glass. Usually, its not long before everything starts coming together, mind body spirit, all one. Other times it happens even quicker. Naturally, this kind of attitude annoys the purists. Earnest young men and sharpeyed middle aged ladies certain life is suffering, and the only way out is even more suffering. Likewise those tightassed priests and dyspeptic ministers forever whining about the punishment God, old Evil Eye, hiding up there behind the clouds indexing every bad thing we do. Apparently none of this do right mob have thought carefully about whats really going on in this world. Theyve all been too busy trying to save themselves for the next world to appreciate life right here, right now. Reality doesnt keep a score sheet. Were free to find out who we really are without a capital conviction hanging over our heads. Frightend minds are like fish swimming in dirty water, where they themselves produce the pollution. And thats why I prefer booze to religion. No guilt. No effort. All the enlightenment I need.