Cats Are Enlightened Monks
One last stop before Nirvana
*Medium smartphone app users: tilt to landscape mode to fully enjoy this poem!
I’ve often considered
that cats
are little Buddhas
cloaked in fur.
A posit somewhat odd, perhaps
so let me break it down for you.
A monk spends their life
pursuing Nirvana
treading the metacosm
between the ephemeral
human world below
and the interminable plane
above and all around
We don’t want to fall down
lest we become
a Hungry Ghost
or worse
without hope
of Enlightenment or break from
Samsara
Equally
we don’t wish to ascend
to a Demigod
or neither higher
over contented
perpetually warring
with our perceived betters
Wait
does this analogy
still hold
for the felis catus
or
rather
humans?
Enlightenment finally arrives
after generations of toil
the soul departs the body
ready to pass
but for the smallest, insurmountable moment
before taking the offramp of existence for eternity
the stoic reawakens, one final time
As a miniscule sparkly blue-eyed kitten
ready to suckle their mother’s milk
why? The Creator’s humour
a final sardonic treat
to enjoy and indulge
in all things we spent our past lives
striving without
Cats eat meat
they only meat
they hunt
they play
they attack
cats care about
only themselves
Cats clean themselves
fastidiously
cats don’t care
about their mess
cats are completely
self-centred
cats are self-serving
Yet
cats are numerous
a promising sign?
many souls breaking imminently
from existence
the final release
high churn with more to follow
Once the feline soul Wests
and departs
their ephemeral body
the stoic monk
finally arrives at
the final destination
Nirvana.
I preach while scratching
a white-striped furred tummy
eyes closed
pink nose pointed skywards
white sock paws making air biscuits
clothed in a coat of duvet
without a thought, or a care, in mind.
