How do I repeat myself? To find enlightenment in repetition seems oxy moronic But alas, I think that’s what I’ve been failing to hear I am not going to find heaven in a new experience. It’s going to be washing, measuring and cooking my rice Or trimming my beard, fixing my bike, watching the ants We talk stories about the seasons not because they are new But because they are steady, slowly dancing and revolving The fox and Raven are clever and wise and forever will be The moon pulls the ocean towards it with the precision of clock As if exercising a muscle it expects to use, soon So too shall I live, imagining, helping, cooking, listening Like my life depends on it