The Difference Between Being and Doing
Do you think, I ask my friend Winston
over bourbon in the backyard, we have
a duty to others– I mean, strangers? Winston
and I meet every Monday to discuss
something important to one of us. My wife,
as she often does, has been making me feel bad
about who I am: It’s not easy being married
to a saint. Winston takes another sip of bourbon.
I think, he says, our main task is to celebrate
our own lives, to praise whatever comes
our way. I’m not much of a drinker, but I lean
forward, pour myself another bourbon. And
what about the truly unfortunate? I ask. What
about the hungry?… And what, I add, almost
as an afterthought, about guilt? Just that
moment, a cardinal evicts a sparrow
from the birdfeeder. Guilt? Winston asks,
What of it? Now there are two cardinals,
a happy couple, at the feeder. You never
feel guilt? I ask, pouring a third bourbon,
my record. Now the backyard’s amok
with a serendipity of birds, singing and
contesting. Winston looks a bit like the Grinch
Who Stole Christmas in his crushable hat.
He smiles that reliable Winston smile.
Our cat Básci pounces on a mole beside
the compost pile, carries the limp body
into the house. I feel bad for the mole.
Breathe deeply, says Winston,
breathe deeply. So I do.