February 23 2007

Text By Greg Fallis

I am the Buddha of Cowboy Boots, the Koan Kid, a gaucho of the godhead. I meditate among the merlot, seeking wisdom in the warmth of the woodstove. Sitting zazen with Ozomatli, I yodel the Little Dogie Sutra: I take refuge in the Bronco, I take refuge in the Dogie, I take refuge in the Saddle.

I am the Buddha of Cowboy Boots, the sidewinder of satori, the wrangler of rebirth. With my chuckwagon chock full of chai, my saddlebags bursting with blackened sea bass, I blaze the Tantric Trail. My solar-powered spurs jingle like prayer bells, ringing out a quiet yippie-kie-yo-kie-karma.

I am the Buddha of Cowboy Boots, a buckaroo under the bodhi tree, the Lone Star Lama. I have downloaded prajna to my iPod and as the sun sets gently in the west, I toss my lariat at enlightenment.