A proper Buddhist would not call oneself Buddhist,
would not think so much about having
proper meditation posture or
dwell so long with the framework of self we call
meaning.

A proper Buddhist would not call oneself anything,
would not think about posture as a thing one has
or the self as being a framework for anything at all.

And yet, here I am. Sitting. Mind veering as it does,
stubbornly having posture and drawing lines
from myself to everything and from everything
back to myself. Wrapping everything up in language,
to bend it into a poem.

Avoid all Isms.

I am no Buddhist. There is no Buddhism.
I am no Person. There is no Personism.
I am no Poet. There is no Poetism.

An improper Buddhist doing Buddhism improperly.