Monday, August 28, 2006
Living With Buddha (poem)
Living with Buddha
1.
I never expected this.
As always, it was my usual
solitary three, me, the music,
the vibrations coming on like waves
gentling the shore.
And then the Unseen came,
taking my breath,
sly cat circling the cradle
where the naked baby lies,
and then suddenly—
You appeared,
radiant being
lit from within
like an icon set in a temple
incandescence lighting
your face, your breast,
now there was the outer image,
and this inner brightness as well--
what was I to do?
2.
True, there had been a leading up to—
for days, Tibetan music
with its untamed gongs and drums
beating the blood
to a kind of lost frenzy,
movement whipping the vibrations
to a pitch,
like a lash
over the waves,
everything pulsing,
bliss, they call it,
who can give it a name?
3.
And then the day when Buddhas
came
in geometric procession,
appearing one behind the other,
like figures in a text
on perspective,
showing how objects maintain power
even as they diminish,
I couldn’t even move.
4.
I found it there,
on the wall of the import store,
holding me in its gaze,
Buddha in a wall painting,
a kind of scroll
with the Teacher
captured in the design,
they name it thongka,
majestic presence
calling me.
But I didn’t yield.
I left empty handed.
5.
But three days later
I returned,
telling myself,
If it’s still there,
I’ll take it,
if not, I’ll simply say
it wasn’t meant to be,
and think on nonattachment.
It was waiting.
I ran my hand over the face
and felt sweetness
ripple like musk
over my wrist.
I’ll take it, I said.
6.
Next morning,
when I bowed
to this image
on my wall,
the energies
pulsed so sweet and strong
I almost could not stand.
First, my head
was blessed
as if his aura
touched my own,
then torso, legs,
all began to dance,
and I became a turning
Buddha field
of light,
my limbs like blossoming
love,
some kind of nectar,
I could not even ask
what was happening,
I could only
become
whatever it was.
7.
And so each morning,
there was boundless bliss
and teachers came,
each day someone new,
I gave them nicknames
to keep them straight,
“Sturdy Boy” or “Master Chi”
or “Ting Mao” with his flowing
sleeves and fan,
Tara with my mother’s face,
so many, all to lead me
in my morning dance,
new movements,
new postures,
I was easily led,
bliss currents streaming.
8.
When I moved in close
to get a better look,
the Buddha field
surrounded me.
I turned my face gently
right and left,
I felt its soft stroke
along my cheeks,
I bowed
and began my movements
once again.
How many minutes
could I stay
in this electric clasp?
How long survive
in this dense
field of love?
9.
High, high.
Were these the vibrations
of the inner realms,
the place of gods and
deities of every kind,
the suprarmundane,
suprahuman,
other worldly
spirits from the
secret sphere?
When Zeus came down to Semele,
she vanished in a flash.
Who can withstand
such demanding love,
who is willing
to be pierced again and again by light,
light purified at source.
First, you arrived
like a flower
lit from within,
holding its own sun.
I let your
multiple form
devour my mind.
Now you are an image
poised
against my wall.
Each morning
I stand before you, bow,
move about a bit,
while you watch quietly,
compassionate wisdom,
easy love.
Dorothy Walters
May, 2006
1.
I never expected this.
As always, it was my usual
solitary three, me, the music,
the vibrations coming on like waves
gentling the shore.
And then the Unseen came,
taking my breath,
sly cat circling the cradle
where the naked baby lies,
and then suddenly—
You appeared,
radiant being
lit from within
like an icon set in a temple
incandescence lighting
your face, your breast,
now there was the outer image,
and this inner brightness as well--
what was I to do?
2.
True, there had been a leading up to—
for days, Tibetan music
with its untamed gongs and drums
beating the blood
to a kind of lost frenzy,
movement whipping the vibrations
to a pitch,
like a lash
over the waves,
everything pulsing,
bliss, they call it,
who can give it a name?
3.
And then the day when Buddhas
came
in geometric procession,
appearing one behind the other,
like figures in a text
on perspective,
showing how objects maintain power
even as they diminish,
I couldn’t even move.
4.
I found it there,
on the wall of the import store,
holding me in its gaze,
Buddha in a wall painting,
a kind of scroll
with the Teacher
captured in the design,
they name it thongka,
majestic presence
calling me.
But I didn’t yield.
I left empty handed.
5.
But three days later
I returned,
telling myself,
If it’s still there,
I’ll take it,
if not, I’ll simply say
it wasn’t meant to be,
and think on nonattachment.
It was waiting.
I ran my hand over the face
and felt sweetness
ripple like musk
over my wrist.
I’ll take it, I said.
6.
Next morning,
when I bowed
to this image
on my wall,
the energies
pulsed so sweet and strong
I almost could not stand.
First, my head
was blessed
as if his aura
touched my own,
then torso, legs,
all began to dance,
and I became a turning
Buddha field
of light,
my limbs like blossoming
love,
some kind of nectar,
I could not even ask
what was happening,
I could only
become
whatever it was.
7.
And so each morning,
there was boundless bliss
and teachers came,
each day someone new,
I gave them nicknames
to keep them straight,
“Sturdy Boy” or “Master Chi”
or “Ting Mao” with his flowing
sleeves and fan,
Tara with my mother’s face,
so many, all to lead me
in my morning dance,
new movements,
new postures,
I was easily led,
bliss currents streaming.
8.
When I moved in close
to get a better look,
the Buddha field
surrounded me.
I turned my face gently
right and left,
I felt its soft stroke
along my cheeks,
I bowed
and began my movements
once again.
How many minutes
could I stay
in this electric clasp?
How long survive
in this dense
field of love?
9.
High, high.
Were these the vibrations
of the inner realms,
the place of gods and
deities of every kind,
the suprarmundane,
suprahuman,
other worldly
spirits from the
secret sphere?
When Zeus came down to Semele,
she vanished in a flash.
Who can withstand
such demanding love,
who is willing
to be pierced again and again by light,
light purified at source.
First, you arrived
like a flower
lit from within,
holding its own sun.
I let your
multiple form
devour my mind.
Now you are an image
poised
against my wall.
Each morning
I stand before you, bow,
move about a bit,
while you watch quietly,
compassionate wisdom,
easy love.
Dorothy Walters
May, 2006
