Wake up

If I told you
I ran the wake-up bell
at the Zen center
you would probably think it
some charming chime,
like the handsome clocks
they sell in glossy catalogues,
promising to wake you gently
and in peace.

Really, it was a cowbell,
and really, it was running.

Past the darkened cabins,
and through the dark,
feet slapping the dirt path,
through the thick smell of creek,
the thinning mist,
the damn bell jangling and clanging,
tired monks grumbling into their pillows
and pulling on their socks

because peace is not the point
of Zen because peace
is not the point of life.

The point is,
wake up.