Bugs In A Bowl
Han-shan, that great and crazy, wonder-filled Chinese poet of a thousand years ago, said: We’re just like bugs in a bowl. All day going around never leaving their bowl. I say: That’s right! Every day climbing up the steep sides, sliding back. Over and over again. Around and around. Up and back down. Sit in the bottom of the bowl, head in your hands, cry, moan, feel sorry for yourself. Or. Look around. See your fellow bugs. Walk around. Say, Hey, how you doing? Say, Nice Bowl!