He sat quietly in a dark Venetian cafe and continued the mental thread: The connectedness of everything was called the Mother of the Ten Thousand Things in the Zen tradition, so his current plight of being down to his last 5 Euros, meant some mystical dot was about to connect his poverty to his prosperity? Was that it? The yin of his hunger was about to be fed by the yang of the fast? Why was it that every-time he felt as if he finally understood something the cosmos would show him almost immediately just how little he truly understood? What a great sense of humor this great spirit has, truly comical. And he knew how hard comedy was. He also knew that if he was to act on the dream he needed to start soon. Like right fucking now, today. To tell the story of the Ten Thousand Things, one day at a time, would take 27.3 years. March of 2035. He hoped that Blogger and YouTube would still be around and offering free space. The story was to be called: Heads: Or Tales of the Ten Thousand Things, and he felt slightly humored that the first of the 10,000 interrelated things would be a Euro 5. It was so perfect, assuming he understood the story's ending and it wasn't just another Buddha joke.
He ordered a double espresso and laughed.
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