A good Da-da has no fixed plans
and is not intent on arriving on time -- yet he does, despite being late.
A better Da-da lets his intuition lead him
away from the Ten Thousand Things scattered all over the house.
A great Da-da has freed himself of desire,
gotten everything done way in advance
and keeps his mind open to the completeness of a good burrito.
Thus does A Man Called Da-da maintain lots of time for Small Beings
without rejecting anyone, regardless of how much jelly is on their face.
He is ready to use all situations as future lessons
and doesn't waste that trip to the Emergency Room.
That long bone inserted in the skin of his chest at the beginning of parenthood –
the one he’s been hanging from for years, see?
It will feel SO GOOD when it’s removed one day far way in the future
when his kids leave for college.
After that there’s the sofa, and college football for him to enjoy
for about an hour before he’s dead.
This is called The Triumph of A Man Called Da-da.
What is a good Da-da, but a bad Da-da's teacher?
What is a bad Da-da, but a good Da-da without a poetic summation?
That doesn’t sound right, but whaddaya gonna do?
If you don't understand this, you will get lost
however intelligent you are,
somewhere in the foggy Da-da-ness of
A Man Called Da-da.
It is the great secret.
What is the great secret?
Da-da can’t remember.
His mind is gone.
Pass the remote.
[Excerpted from Da-da's unpublished third book, The Tao of Da-da (or "Strong Winds CAN Blow All Day, Depending on How Much Sugar Has Been Ingested"). Void where prohibited. Only enlightened publishers -- with kids -- may apply.]
|Jeez, is this really necessary? And HOW LONG does Da-da have to hold this tarragon?|