Leaky Zen

He lay watching the ceiling falling upwards. "Meditation" he thought, "where does the mind go when it leaves its fishbowl?" Questions, one after another – Where the inflatable Santa? Where the rescue center? Where the House of the Lord? "Shadow play" he thought, "I'm just playing with shadows." Then Santa took a BB bullet; his last thoughts wheezed out from a small mouth-shaped hole: All rescue centers are adopted by homeless prayers. In the House of the Lord words rent rooms. The moon does not miss its own light. Water has no memory. The fish in his bowl kept on circling.