Cheap Socks for my Dead Dad

IMG_3391After he died, I had to buy
some socks for my dad. My
mother insisted a pair go

with the suit I’d spruced up
for the undertaker. I bought
a three-pack on sale, one

pair for dad, two for me. I
think of him mouldering
there in his socks when a

pair floats up in the heap
of my drawer. I recognize
them still by the sheen of

polyester—cheap socks
are fine, I reasoned, for the
grave where the walking’s

ceased. As for me, I have
two pairs of cheap shiny
socks. For now. For a while.

On Integrity

Zhuangzi said this about Wholeness

How is it that one who follows
The Way of the creative universe

walks through walls without stopping

and stands in fire without burning?

It’s not knowledge
or daring; it’s not
learning something.
It has to do with
Think about this:

A drunk falls off a wagon.

He’s bruised but not dead.

his bones are like everyone’s,
It is his fall that is different.
His mind is not divided.
He doesn’t remember
getting on the wagon;
he doesn’t remember
falling out.

Life. Death. They
mean nothing to him.

Since he has no fear,
he falls on the hard spots
without worry; without
even knowing they are there.

If wine contains
this much wisdom,
think about how much
The Way of the universe
contains: the wise
are wrapped in The Way.
Nothing can touch them.
The one who follows The Way
has a nature that goes
to the root of everything.
When we find our own integrity,

there’s no flaw, no crack—
no place for a wedge to enter.