These Dear Friends of the Buddha Mind

 2675.

These Dear Friends of the Buddha Mind

          I never
     grasped emptiness
or hiked around Mt. Sumeru,
or patted Chao-chou's dog,
or teased Nansen's cat,

blocked the Bodhidharma's uppercut,
or slept in Han Shan's dirty hut,
or borrowed Wendy Johnson's garden rake
or rode the Ox through the Gateless Gate,
or solved any of Rinzai's riddles,

I never, ever
suffered the Great Doubt,
looked for sticks in Yun-men's crapper,
or broke Tassajara bread with Shunryu Suzuki,
or minded the flapping flag for Hui-neng the sage,

or heard Jiyu-Kennett move her whisk in Mt. Shasta's shade,
or chanted on Mt. Tamalpais with Whalen, Ginsberg and Snyder,
or saw Dogen's True Eye open just a little bit wider.
     I never did.
     Nope, never!

Not in 55 lifetimes.
               Yet, it seems like I did.
Yep, dayinanddayout,
appearances notwithstanding,
Reality appeared just So.

This I know:
Their Heritage
Is in my Heart,
Their Myths mine,
These Dear Friends of the Buddha Mind.

 

2676.

 

 

Poetry by Michael P. Garofalo

Quintains: Volumes 1 -6