Eighty-fourth day: One hundred and eight   

the prayer beads are there
even when they are not

This mala exists inside me.
This morning, in the opening movements
of an old argument, I noticed
their inner existence.
I wanted to lash out,
to strike back, to hurt some one
but
these dull brown beads
that click and annoy my wrist
have been speaking Zen phrases,
whispering fanciful advice:
be gentle, find kindness
draw away from anger
seek out compassion

Remember, they say,
the multitudes of people
in your life, and you,
are only one.

None of this advice is easy
when you are hurt, or angry
or pissed off.

But more and more often,
before I say anything,
before I do
anything,
I hear the small clicking
of the prayer beads,
I feel the strands at my wrist
and pause inside a breath.

© 2007 Thomas Trofimuk