A History of the Self

Robert Ronnow
The Ever Maddening Mandala

A History of the Self

Why struggle to survive. I’m already 75.
Kenko says to linger longer is blameworthy, even shameful.
The secret of life is fearing the passage of time.

The dead’s toes. Your sex partner’s toes.
You gotta roll with the big bangs and great crunches.
Stay on your crutches.

Each moment is a mirror of all other moments. That’s the theory anyway.
When two lovers meet they still say I love you.
Opposite of abyss.

Selfish narcissists get a mirror in which there is no image ever seen.
Rich industrialists get a room in an SRO hotel.
Abusive dads get punched out by their schizophrenic sons.

You cannot know if it’s a person or a robot,
and if it’s a person whether they clicked on purpose or by accident,
and if they clicked on purpose whether it was meaningful or not.

Sober deliberation, fasting before surgery, the invention of zero,
jackhammers and snow plows, lifting breasts out of blouses, oracles and dental records,
middle of a nightmare, murder on your birthday, washing machines and passenger planes.

Physics principles and personal problems,
love affairs and Noh dramas,
barbecues and cloud curlicues.

Who loves whom and why,
what to do and why do it,
and why know why.

I can’t get past the illusion that I exist.
Snow for eternity. Funny.
Vast tracts of wilderness.

Humor is the antidote
to the hot desire
never to be not.