we went to our master and asked him, what is zen?
wait until it rains, he said, and ask a blackbird
impatiently, we waited until it was raining. we asked a blackbird, what is zen?
he said, the rain is zen
it seemed true. raindrops gleamed on his feathers, like small worlds born and dying. he pressed the wet air and it answered with a song
but, we objected, it isn’t always raining….
the blackbird sighed. oh, fuckinghell, he said, give me a break, lifting himself on his perch and shaking the rain from his wings to fly away