The apple of Buddha’s eye

The Buddha sat under a tree. An apple fell on his head. It was the wrong tree. He ate the apple.

The Buddha sat under a tree. An apple fell on his head. It was Buddha-nature.

The Buddha sat under a tree. An apple fell on his head. He said, “I am not looking for gravity here.”

The Buddha sat under a tree. An apple fell on his head. He laughed. And said, “You have the wrong man here.”

The Buddha sat under a tree. An apple fell on his head. He said, “let’s not make a big deal out of this here.”

The Buddha sat under a tree. A fig Newton fell on his head. Followed momentarily by an apple Newton. Then, Isaac Newton. Who was quite out of sorts.

The Buddha sat under a tree. An apple fell on his head. He said, “Seriously?”

I would not joke.

Then he laughed.

At the end of the day, the Buddha had so many apples.

“How many apples did he have?” You may ask, in unison. This is crowd work. He is building a following now.

He had so many apples he gave most of them away.

He planted one. And it grew into a legend.

If an apple falls from a tree, and neither the Buddha nor Isaac Newton are there for it to land on, does it make a sound? What is that sound? Asking for one who seeks.

Every time I see an apple on the ground, I miss Isaac Newton, as did, likely, that apple. On the ground.

Every time I let go of my sadness regarding the apple and the absence of Isaac Newton, I see the Buddha.

With an Apple, you can see the world.

An apple sat under a tree. The Buddha fell on it. This world. Is upside down.

Every time I time travel, I do nothing. Because I did nothing the first time I time traveled. Now I have to do nothing. Otherwise I put everything at risk.

Something Might Happen. This Time.

An apple sat under a tree. The Buddha fell on it. Applesauce. Applesauce.

Spiritually enlightened applesauce. Can’t put a dollar value on it.

Americans will anyway.