by Peter Johnson Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa It’s early morning when it arrives. Uninvited, as usual. So why so surprised? Why up so fast like a tripped mouse trap? And what’s that thunder between his ears that others call thought? I remember the first time, like finding myself in a huge walk-in clinic where everyone was wearing black leather masks. I was never the same again, though I won’t tell him that. Better to pass on the optimism of a young Buddha than this