The Spring is sprung
The grass is riz,
I wonder where
the birdies is.
Could somebody please help me? I've got this silly little rhyme running around inside my brain, and I've forgotten the second half. The poor old gray stuff won't let it go until the cycle is complete, and it's driving me up the wall. I know it has to do with the "sky," and I'm pretty sure there's a "why" in there somewhere, but I just can't put it all together.
Funny, though, that familiar need to complete a thought or memory, sometimes the snatch of a song. It's an itch that insists on being scratched, and it keeps on itching until you find the answer--or until the brain gets tired of this particular game it invented for itself.
The Buddhist thing would be to note its presence and then let it go. But the brain's a tough old bird, and the letting go is easier said than done.
So much for the morning's meditation, then. Oh, wait. Another line: "The birdie's on the wing." Okay, here I go:
the bird is on the wing.
But that's absurd.
I always heard
the wing is on the bird.
Phew! What a relief! (But I was way off about the "sky" and "why." Go figure.)