Life in a nut Shell

OOOoooooh the crocodile went to the dentist
and he sat down in the chair
and the dentist said, now tell me sir
why does it hurt and where......

sounds familiar, no?

....aaaand he opened his jaws so wide so wide
that the dentist he jumped right inside
and the dentist laughed, Oh isnt this fun
as he pulled the teeth out one by one.....

NOW YOU'VE GOT IT!! it's one of life's most salient lessons. In fact, it's the story of so many relationships, friendships, human interactions.

....the crocodile said you're hurting me so!
please put down your pliers and let me go!
But the dentist just laughed with a HO HO HO
and said Ive still got twelve to go...

You have to wonder how long youre obligated to sit in that freakin chair, letting life's proverbial tooth pullers reek havoc on your precious pearlies before biting back.

....OOPS that's the wrong one I confess,
but whats one crocodile tooth more or less??....

See, the irony is that the strongest of us, or maybe even the strongest IN us, can be completely undone by a tiny man and his...instrument. So small is he that he may fit into the palm of your hand, the crease of your molar, the crux of your arms or the enveloping warmth of your heart. Like the blunted legs of the pliers, strength comes not from the sadist's stature, nor his weapon of choice, but from what he wields it against. For the dentitionally sensitive, feathers alone could offend.

.....And suddenly his jaws went SNAP!!
and the dentist was gone, right off the map...

But, perhaps a little heartache....or toothache is a small price to pay. After all, jumping out of the chair before recognizing the true nature of your hell spawned hygenist will only lead to repeat patronizations. Better to see the experience through to it's sometimes hard to swallow ending. Because really, the revelation is what counts. Sure, life is painful, but nobody said wising up was easy. Just like nobody said letting go wasn't hard.

....But what's one dentist...more or less?



poem courtesy of shell silverstein

Did you do something different to the place?

There's a buddhist parable I sometimes ponder. It starts with a house. Inside the house lived a father and his three sons. The obvious gender bias in the parable should not yet detract, because these men are about to embark on a rather interesting journey...of sorts. This house was on fire. The father, being both a patriarch AND wise, recognized the danger of a flaming home and tried to coax his progeny to safety. The endeavor was in vain, not because the sons felt the warmth of burning timber was particularly fetching, but rather because they were completely unaware of the impending doom surrounding them. In fact the sons were so enamoured with the glittering baubles that littered their death trap, they could not be convinced that there was or ever would danger in remaining there. Try as he may, the father was unable to convince them otherwise. Eventually, Hippined to their materialistic game, He decided to abandon hope that his children would open their eyes to the truth of their surroundings. Instead, he settled for luring them to safety with the promise of an even greater gilded glory. To the Sons he said, "My children, outside awaits carts filled with treasures more than you see before you here." The bid of luxury was sufficiently strong, and the sons rushed to safety, expecting to find what was promised them.

I suppose if you have boddhi-clination (as I like to call it), you would point out to me that the father and burning house bare an uncanny resemblance to Buddha and the great Karmic cycle respectively. I, being neither buddhist nor too religiously informed would likely smile and nod. I guess I might feel the tiniest amount of humiliation in revealing, to a boddhisattva such as yourself, that to me this is a story of human survival and not supreme enlightenment.

I hava a friend....we'll call her....Sassandra. She recently woke to find a fire lapping at the fringe of her bed sheets. Now, Sassandra, being no bauble beguiled fool, hastily transported her inflammable ass to a less toasty locale. However, it seems that, in her well informed haste, she left behind her reluctant heart. So what does one do to protect it's most vitalist of organs, most seatiest of soul positions? How can one's heart be coaxed from the perilous emotional conflagration plaguing all of our lives? Do we allow it to linger amongst the memories-resign it to a crispy fate? Or do we lure it away with the promise of all that was and more? I'm sure, by the parable chosen, it's easy to deduce to what tactics our young protagonist resorted.

I suppose at the end of the day, lying about a cart full of trinkets in an effort to save your loved ones from eternal suffering is a sin smaller than lying to yourself about emotional salvation in exchange for the opportunity to temporarily inhabit another house before playing the entire flame game all over again. But I like the parable none the less.