poetry

Wise Council

I spent some time with my spiritual counselor today.

Spent time with him, and gave him lettuce and fresh water and the way he gives thanks for these is enough to make anyone calm down and smile.

When I come home

wanting nothing more than to gripe about petty irritations,

he won’t let me.

He talks over me, drowning out the sound of my grumbling with his small, soft, insistent voice,

and I listen despite my aggravation.

And I smile.

Guinea pigs have a lot to say.

My furry guru accomplishes more with his fresh bedding and hay than some other “masters” do with crystals and candles and chakra wheels. His world is mostly cage-confined, interrupted by cuddles and pellet-meals.

And he is wise.

Offering only unbiased love and untarnished affection from his somber little eyes.

My tiny, loaf-shaped teacher is enlightened and, through his tutelage, so am I.

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