To paraphrase the Sufi poet Rumi in the style of the Beat poet Bukowski:
an old man rich from a half-dozen
business deals,
satiated with money whores
houses cars boats and planes
and every damn thing else
sent one of his young execs
on a quest
to find him some immortality
and bring it back in one piece.
on the road for weeks
now drunk in a bar
the young exec met a wise man
with a long beard
who listened to his story
over drinks.
directing their gaze to a
a woman, barely legal, topless,
pole dancing like her livelihood
depended on it
the wise man said
“talk about a tree of life
i’d sure like to climb that one
and knock down a few coconuts.
how about you? . . .
listen friend,
that is the tree of knowledge
the water of life
the encompassing ocean.
you, on the other hand,
are chasing after forms
calling them first one thing
and then another
names like tree, and sun and lake and cloud.
what you are chasing has thousands of names
the least among them the name
of the one thing you say you’re looking for.
you may as well call it father,
to you it’s father
to someone else it’s son
to someone else it’s vengeance,
to someone else it’s mercy.
this thing with its thousands of names
is only one.
all these things, all these names
are no good at all.
the longer you look for it
the more you’re guaranteed not to find it.
so why chase after
this name of a tree called immortality
knowing you’re
guaranteed to disappoint?
pass over all of them,
these names of nothing at all.
look past them to their qualities
their essence
and pass me that drink
while you’re at it.
if you’re so determined
to find immortality
and stick your dick in it
stick your dick in its essence
not its names, not its things.
that’s the only way you’ll find peace
which is what you’re really after, right?” (1)
the wise man wrote this all down
on a bar napkin
and gave it to the young exec
to take back to his boss.
on the plane trip home
looking at it
the young exec thought,
as poems go
this could be worse.
(1) From “The Tree of Life,” by Rumi.