Middle Way

by Bryan Merck

I ride my lawnmower in and around my yard.
I will weedeat the various edges, later.
I remember life before weed eaters.
I remember the non-motorized mowers in Grandmama’s  garage.
Her yard man, King, rode a bicycle to her house.
He carried an empty half-gallon water jar.
Grandmama filled it with ice and water.
Thank God for the internal combustion engine.

I experience the joys and profundities of life.
I can exist without doubt.

Grass is a wonderful plant. St Augustine grass is amazing.
My days are like a field of grass. A strong wind passes,
and there yet remains abundant evidence of my being here.

My lawnmower is of the same brand as serious farm equipment.

Like the women at Jesus’ tomb, I am sometimes “afraid yet filled with joy.”
John “leaped with joy” when he heard Mary’s voice prior to his birth.
The angel brought the frightened shepherds “good news of great joy.”
Jesus told his listeners they would “leap for joy” over their reward in heaven.
He told the disciples that “no one will take away your joy.”

I go about like Abraham at testimony meetings
all the years between when Isaac was promised
and when Sarah conceived.

I ride my lawnmower into my garage.
I have resolved not to live my life seeking pleasures.
I have resolved not to live my life seeking mortifications.

My main identifying label is “human,” above all else,
and I am a man; I am of the male gender. Every man, woman, and child
blesses me, and I in turn bless them.
We can do this in a real and substantial way.

If I ask Western human beings “Where is mind?” they will point to their heads.
If I ask Eastern human beings “Where is mind?” they will point to their hearts.

If I never walk in darkness,
light will mean nothing to me.
If I never experience the severities and sorrows of life,
joy will mean nothing to me.