As he lay there in the garden
Idling away time,
The voice in his head bubbled and foamed…
It goaded him to get up,
To roll up his sleeves and do this or that.
To make with his hands things that others could touch.
“I am everything already,” he said to himself.
“I don’t need to do this or that.”
He glanced up at the sky.
He had seen it so many times before.
But now it was as if he was seeing it for the first time.
He needed so little to be content.
He could be content anywhere and at any time.
But the voice raged on.
It urged him to get up, to do things.
The cat slunk to him
Jumped in his chair
Curled up beside him
Began to purr.
He looked down at it, at its twitching ears.
“You don’t have to do anything at all,” it seemed to say.
“Look at me. I don’t even search for food.
The food finds me.”
There were so many things for him to do.
“But what I don’t do is also me,” he said to himself.
“The glass is a glass whether it’s empty or full.”