where the ordinary and the extraordinary meet
JOctober 2020
Memories
#Monday Memories, #Self-Discovery
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All Buddhist monks in Thailand acquire merit by following a set of precepts for the monastic life. They can use this merit to assure a good rebirth for themselves, or to benefit other living beings. One day, imagining the possible life of a simple monk wandering on the slopes of Doi Suthep, just as the Buddha did in legendary times, I recalled this Zen parable. Two monks happened on a woman who was having trouble crossing a fast-moving river. Seeing her need, the older monk picked her up, carried her across, and set her down on the other side. After some time, the younger monk asked, “We should not touch women. Why did you pick up that one at the river?” The first monk replied, “I left her behind long ago, but you are still carrying her with you.” This parable inspired my fantastical tale of a simple wandering monk.
A simple wandering monk was he,
The precepts following.
He traced the paths the Buddha trod
In the valley of the Ping.
Each morn he traveled down a lane
Somewhere on Doi Suthep.
Not thinking of nor loss nor gain,
He walked with steady step.
Then one fine day he chanced upon
A very beauteous she,
Whose loveliness for him became
That day his destiny.
He watched and waited for a chance
To greet this lovely lass
In hopes that she with just one glance
Might bring him happiness.
Just then a viper in a tree
Fell onto her bare neck.
The monk reacted instantly
Its deadly strike to check.
“How dare you” said the beauteous she
And slapped his hand away.
The snake saw opportunity -
She died that very day.
“Alas, alack, it’s all my fault.
My silly vanity
And errant thoughts have surely wrought
This sad calamity.
“I ate the apple, gift from Eve,
And lost the beauteous she.
The snake that did our kind deceive
Has taken her from me.”
Not having any kindling wood
Or match to light a fire
He did the next best thing he could -
He made a little byre,
Then wove a shroud of fresh green leaves
And laid her there to rest.
Oblivious to the soft, warm breeze
That blew in from the west,
He sat cross-legged to meditate
And ponder on events.
A thought arose, no need to wait,
This thought made perfect sense.
“What matter if when I return
I come as bug or snail,
Whatever lesson I’m to learn
My next life will unveil.
“The merit earned while on this earth
Has no more worth for me,
I’ll offer it for her rebirth
In hopes to set her free.”
So saying, he let go his pain,
Then went his wandering way.
And no one’s heard of him again
Except in this monk’s lay.
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JUNE 30, 2020
Ode to Nothing
#WednesdayWisdom,Epiphany
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In mid-April 2020, in the midst of the corona virus pandemic, as I was preparing to send off some draft poems for review by my editor, I came across a poem he had recently published, entitled “Ode to the Cooronavirus.” He says that he wrote this poem because he was trying to hold tightly to everything in that time of great uncertainty, but realized that of course, nothing can be held in place. The writing of the poem was, for him, a search for the words that he needed to find to get through the days – “to remember how to live.” The poem which follows is a personal comment on his verse which I wrote at the time, but which has wider applicability.
"But nothing is mine. And that’s
the lesson you came to teach."
Jon Davis, Ode to the Coronavirus, in Letter to America, April 6, 2020, Terrain.Org.
It’s true. Nothing is yours and nothing is mine –
Not even the poems you’ve already written or the ones I hope to write.
And yet we keep trying,
Driven by the ephemeral force of the ego-mind
That one day was born and will, on some other day, die,
The ephemeral force without which human life would also be – nothing.