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how do i tend my demons
the young man wondered?
wash your dish, the old man said.

washing the dishes
is like bathing a baby
buddha.

will i ever love and be loved
the young man pondered?
wash your dish, the old man said.

the profane is the sacred.
everyday mind is buddha’s mind.

why can’t i be accepted for who i am
the young man thought?
wash your dish, the old man said.

the idea that doing dishes is unpleasant
only occurs to us when we are not doing them.

what can i do with all this anger
the young man mused?
wash your dish, the old man said.

each thought, each action
in the sunlight of awareness becomes sacred.

when might i be satisfied and find enough
the young man considered?
wash your dish, the old man said.

while washing the dishes
you should only be washing the dishes,
which means that while washing the dishes
you should be completely aware of the fact
that you are washing the dishes.

when i was thirteen
i asked my dad to teach me.
he asked, “have you eaten dinner?”
i replied, “yes, i have."
“then go wash your dish,” he said.

the advice felt lazy to me as a kid,
especially in a house with a sink full of dishes.

but now leaning toward fifty
when i’m standing at the sink
i think of my old man.