Haste

Haste is the way to acquiring closets full of plastic junk and no treasure.

The early bird and all that.

It’s polite to be on time but far worse to teach your children to live under society’s shadow, self-denial in praise of the voice of high hurry.

Get a fast car and, whatever you do, don’t drive a car from last century unless it’s shined and in a parade.

Get over it already, hurdle horse, because grief and confusion and loss are slow and uncomfortable. At least don’t talk about it.

Clean the house.

Cleanliness is not a virtue.

A dirty cup is no more sinful than a barking dog.

And if I say to you, “Be quick”, because I’ve forgotten what I just wrote,

Say to me, “Have a cup. Rinse it if you must, but sit and drink it until you hear the ice loosen from the soil outside your window.”

Remind me that acquisition is heavy,

a burden so weighty, I won’t be able to help you with yours.

In fact, I might not even see you.