Walking The Temple Dog

Out of the unbounded, and into a pair of Converse tennis shoes! Morning meditation over, I come downstairs, Approaching Lucky in the gray light, leash in hand. He spins crazy circles at the end of his chain, I raise a stick to make him crouch… just as a game, The quick way to fasten the leash and start our walk; Then he lunges like a bloodhound hot on the trail, He leans against my drag like a sled dog, He treats me like I'm just a dead log; He wheezes from pulling me so hard. Poor Lucky, you are not enjoying your walk, Tugging at cross purposes won't get us to the park, You are a bundle of nerves! Your collie-shepherd features could be regal But they lose their handsomeness When you hunch your head and shoulders To pull in a direction we are headed anyway. Get a clue, you packet of excess muscle! The way you strain against resistance Evaporates your energy into the void; You turn the spigot of vitality wide open; How much will be given to you in this life? You've got to learn to subtilize your kundalini; You've got to turn your drives into a snake dance. Being a temple dog, you are called upon to learn this. Just now I was having my morning sit, just sitting; The whole universe was taking me for a walk. I did not yank and pull; I wanted to see where I could go. You and I could cruise along, smelling all kinds of bushes. We could be parading our smooth gait on other blocks. It's time to teach Lucky not to pull. I don't follow a police-dog training program. I don't use a torture collar that tightens and chokes; Whenever Lucky yanks I simply yank back. Here we go.Stop hunching like you're ready to pull: Take that.Don't forget I'll respond to you. Take that.That's how my shoulder feels when you pull. Don't pull.Take that.YELP! I look sheepishly around for Animal Liberation. Each time I yank, I should yank as an enlightened mentor, But my temper insists on giving lessons to Lucky. My temper takes us both for a walk, yanking and yanking, While Prokofiev in my headphones stirs up the drama. Lucky is a smart dog: after four days he gets the idea. He's careful not to pull, but he makes tight turns He burns off his excitement by doing figure-eights, Runs loops as I change the leash from hand to hand. We have the routine down. Based on the ratio of pi, I figure he covers three times the distance I walk By gray light I slip downstairs in the morning, The atmosphere quivers with glissades of violin. I scan for a nervous edge, wanting to hear the city's mood; When 'Classical 105' starts up a stodgy old-time theme, I switch to 'Power 106, Where Hip-Hop Lives.' Lucky leaps up to meet me, upending his empty bowl: It is only a dusty dented bowl of tin; Under my breath I say, 'This is Mambrino's helmet.'[1] With these words, I observe my entry to the antic realm, Where anything could be the wreckage of a dream. Lucky is my animal familiar, conducting me To moments of primal life, away from human-centeredness. Lucky is my totem animal, now altered by nearness to Man, Who leads me back around to the Nature I live within. I run with my lodge brother, casting my eyes about For things to gather up and keep close inside, As gifts for the lodge partners I hope to run beside. [1] Don Quxote 'recognized' a barber's basin as Mambrino's helmet and claimed it as his own. He believed that the helmet's true appearance had been altered by sorcery.