The First Question
How do I know my sadness is real?
How do I know my joy is real?
How do I know that waiting for the bus to go to Kroger
and buy chicken legs for dinner
Is real? STOP…Just
get on the bus. Go to Kroger. Buy the
chicken legs. Go home and
Cook them. Pay
attention to what you are doing. If the
grease catches fire, your house
Will catch fire and burn down. You will be sitting in the ashes wondering
“Is this is real?”
I assure you: it is real and reality will keep hitting
you over the head till you wake up
And realize that you have been asking the wrong
questions.
She was 12 and lovely and Jewish
Her parents adored her—a jewel in the family
Her father strong—Her mother gentle
The troops burned her village
They entered her house
What happened next was brutal
She kept telling herself she loved God
The next morning as she closed the eyes
Of her mother and father, she did not ask
If God was real—She cried
Percival stood in silence as he watched
The solemn procession of young maidens
Carry the Grail before the quiet king
His heart was burning with the question
He dared not ask in the silence of the great hall
He has lived for 8o years as he sits quietly
Watching the gentle rain on the trees
In the garden outside his window—
The memories which had haunted him
For years have faded--he now sees the rain
Pulled to earth by gravity as the answer
To the question he had never dared to ask
His daughter serves roast chicken for dinner—
It tastes so good.
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