Out of the endless blue sky appeared that bomb again, the usual sudden mote in my perfect day’s eye. As it tumbled, every square inch was revealed: sinister labyrinths of pipes; bristling nests of wires, LEDs blinking like eyes. I tracked its fall, my network of sirens going off like they always do. I began the usual routine of screaming and starting to run. This time, something made me stare up into its terrible redundant complexities. So many mechanisms, I wondered, just to create the chance of an explosion. Then, for the first time, I recognized my own hand in the baroque wiring. And I realized I had not only built and launched every bomb every single day, but mapped out the alarm system as well. I stopped in my tracks. The bomb slowed its descent, the air around it whistling uncertainly.  The sirens sputtered. Still looking up, I slowly spread my arms wide.

(Thoughts on chapter 3 of “Each Moment Is the Universe: Zen And the Way of Being Time”, by Dainin Katagiri. My intention is to write a poem or brief meditation on each short chapter as a way of summarizing my understanding.)