I never do one thing at a time. I'm a multitasker. So I guess that would make me a terrible Buddhist. My busy life, however, requires me to work on two or three tasks at once. Tonight, I'm watching the Paris Olympics, typing this blog post, and making a grocery list for shopping tomorrow.
I wonder, if I hadn't divided my mind like this, whether I would have published more books by now or accrued more money in my savings account or painted oil landscapes (a skill I've always admired). Or maybe I would have read a lot more. Been a better cook. Learned how to change the oil in my car. I'll never know. There are no do-overs in life.
Billy Collins multitasks in today's poem . . .
Fool Me Good
by: Billy Collins
I am under the covers
waiting for the heat to come up
with a gurgle and hiss
and the banging of the water hammer
that will frighten the cold out of the room.
And I am listening to a blues singer
named Precious Bryant
singing a song called “Fool Me Good.”
If you don’t love me baby, she sings,
would you please try to fool me good?
I am also stroking the dog’s head
and writing down these words,
which means that I am calmly flying
in the face of the Buddhist advice
to do only one thing at a time.
Just pour the tea,
just look into the eye of the flower,
just sing the song —
one thing at a time
and you will achieve serenity
which is what I would love to do
as the fan-blades of the morning begin to turn.
If you don’t love me, baby,
she sings
as a day-moon fades in the window
and the hands circle the clock,
would you please try to fool me good?
Yes, Precious, I reply.
I will fool you as good as I can,
but first I have to learn to listen to you
with my whole heart,
and not until you have finished
will I put on my slippers,
squeeze out some toothpaste,
and make a big foamy face in the mirror,
freshly dedicated to doing one thing at a time —
one note at a time for you, darling,
one tooth at a time for me.
So, my goal at the end of this post is to concentrate on one thing at a time.
Right now, it's watching the men's 10,000 meter final race at the Paris Olympics.
Then eating a Hershey's nugget.
Perhaps going outside to see if I can spy any Perseids (depending on cloud cover).
Eating another nugget.
Brushing my teeth, one tooth at time, like Collins.
Reading some Neruda odes, which is sort of like praying.
Trying to go to sleep, which is always a struggle.
Eating another nugget, because why not?
Counting Bigfoots until I finally drift off.
Saint Marty may be a Buddhist by tomorrow morning.
