Zen Patriarch Dōgen Takes a Ride in a Self-Driving Car
By James K. Zimmerman
and Dōgen asks the salesman:
Where was the self
when the car was a thought?
When the thought was a sketch?
When the sketch was design?
Where was the self
on the assembly line
in Alabama? On a truck
from Mexico? A ship
from China?
Is the self in the carbon
and iron of steel?
In the gleam of chrome?
The slick skin of PVC?
Where is the self in the cowhide
of custom bucket seats?
Where do the seats go
when the car is incinerated?
Is the windshield still sand?
Was the sand always glass?
Where is the self that thinks
it can drive itself? In GPS?
Bluetooth? ABS? Cruise control?
Show me the self before
the doors were installed.
Show me the self after
the car is totaled.
After the crusher comes.
Show me the self after
the parts return to earth and sky.
This poem was first published in Fourteen Hills and is reprinted from:
Source: https://thepoetrybox.com/bookstore/zen-patriarch-dogen
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