The Buddha’s question
was of release not from life,
but from sorrow.

by Joseph Campbell

Arlene’s telling Arlu about these cats she has, “Crazy!
All night they roam. In the morning they go out, and
play! They spring about each other, crazy cat dancing,
then, lifting leaves, slipping into brush to slide slowly
toward unsuspecting birds. But, somehow, they always foil
themselves, step on a twig, brush a branch. The bird flies.
They watch.” She takes a sip of coffee, “Why do they do that?”

“Maybe they don’t want to catch the bird.” Arlu says.
“They like the hunt, but the actual catching is too messy,
too bloody & fatiguing. The chase is the thing, like men.”

“Maybe more like women.” Arlene muses, “Too subtle for men.
But then, at the last moment, finding this isn’t the one,
snapping the spell, stepping into daylight, bright and cold.
Clinical.” Arlene looks up into the Mesquite over and behind them,
“And then its more crazy cat dancing, more springing after
each other, leaping, pouncing, rolling. Then, sudden, one will
stiff walk away. Not angry, not sullen, just… I don’t know…
just done, just sane suddenly, just mundane again.”

“Hmmm, you ever do that?” Arlu asks as she watches her friend
slip into some inner space. “You ever crazy cat dance, then
walk away? Ever sidle after a guy and then snap the twig?”
She sips her coffee, “Sounds like a guy thing to me”

“Ummm, no, I don’t think it is. Guys are goofy dogs,
don’t you see, slobbery and clumsy sometimes, rarely subtle.
Gals, tho, love subtle, love looping circles and spirals,
to sniff the scent of Other brushed on leaves, to slide unseen
closer.” She turns to Arlu, “It’s just you keep thinking its a bird
you follow, you track. And it turns out to be just another
goofy dog, lumbering and lovable but slobbery. And you woke it up.
Ya wanna break a twig then, step away, move on.”

“Like I said, maybe you don’t want to catch the bird.” Arlu says,
“Or the bird dog.” A mourning dove lands in the Mesquite, another,
sitting a few branches away, bobs it’s head, watches, cautious.
Arlene lifts her cup. Both doves flight fly to the south.
Two friends sit, quiet together, each in an inner place.
The morning air goes still. The patio warms. The coffee cools.
The cats return by solitary paths, settle in the shade, and nap.