In the Desert Heart

Buddha in the Garden

It is four-thirty a.m. in the desert –

And oh so many stars!

Against a pitch-black curtain,

Points of light crackle with silence.

 .

It is cold, and wrapped

In flannel vest and wool scarf

I walk a slow, steady pace by flash light

To a small stone building, a former Catholic chapel.

 .

Here, alone in the pre-dawn light

My meditation cushion is like an island

That gives just enough support

For muscle and tissue to relax.

 .

On my little island, the mind is watched,

And what a show it gives!

Of grasping and grabbing,

To a past event, a future course of action.

 .

Clamoring for attention –

Attempting to convince a sitter of its relevance.

Until it settles down, rather bored of repetition.

 .

Humans have been sitting and looking

Into their vast inner sky asking

“Who Am I?”

For as long as feet have impressed steps on earth.

 .

“Who Am I?”

That is unchanging, without

name, story, form, without any conclusion.

 .

In the asking, and looking

Words disappear and so does the sitter…

 .  .  .

A quiet warmth envelopes the room,

Two hours seem like five minutes.

Bells ring in the distance,

I stand up and bow to my little island.

Bells Against the Sky

The sun has eaten the night sky.

.

Again I walk a short path to join others

In prayer before breakfast.

 .

Prayer and gratitude,

For all that IS.

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