Crosslegged on his narrow bed, Buddha is unaware of my presence. A thin man with delicate bone structure and his head closely shaven, his eyes are closed. I clear my throat softly. Startled, he jumps from the mattress and, turning down the music, escorts me in. Normally publicity-shy, he contacted us because he feels strongly that modern Ireland, with its insistence on the merits of money and technology, is being eroded of its wisdom.
Happiness comes when unhappiness goes.
Every few days the boss will have a panic and they'll run round blamin' each other and it'll settle back and still nothin' done. A darkhaired young woman appears on the stairs, carrying a carton of eggs. She wears flowing robes and has pale, luminous skin. Buddha introduces his wife. The work ain't getting' done, the lads is tormented by guilt, and they could've been out diggin' roads or plantin' flowers all that while, or just sittin' quietly fixin' their souls.