The American MONKey

I fantasize about having no money and no debt, just roving the land like an American MONKey, sleeping under oak trees and at the edges of farms, wandering to doors with open hands, asking for a morning meal, then roaming the forests of Washington, California, Maine, sitting to meditate under trees, under the shelter of stones, meeting garrulous raccoons, eager chipmunks, kind snakes, Oh I'd be the American MONKey, with a short fuzzy haircut and fond memories of lightning storms that tested my nerves, tested my concentration, and I'd find myself improving, getting better at wanting what I've got, not questing for what I don't, Big I becoming little i, slowly, deliberately, with the changing of the seasons, fearlessly advancing in age and wisdom and my capacity to laugh at myself, I'd have to give up my bicycles, my music, computer, food in my fridge, close ties with lover and friends, leave for the forest, head shaved, feet trembling and willing to take me on the inner path to a silent sitting, a sweet quiet bower of the mind, plenty of green, no greenbacks, but an over-arching sense of lightness.

But, for now, I am the American debtor, full of loans and bikes, goofily complex idears, a monogamous relationship, a continuously re-managed cluster of sense-addictions.