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
unlearning.
Think about this:

A drunk falls off a wagon.

He’s bruised but not dead.

Consider:
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.

IMG_2303
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.