—for Ryumon

Often I think of Siddhartha Gautama

meditating in the jungle

among the creatures short & tall—

elephants, gazelles, mynas & especially

the small, inexhaustible flies.

Paintings never show

the Enlightened One frowning

as tiny sentient beings

swarm his lips (no) eyes (no) nose

nor do statues

lift golden fingers

to brush away

gnats buzzing about

the Awakening.

In the old books are stories

of those who came before,

rishis so devout

that they were bit by snakes

or partly chewed by tigers

yet continued to pray

without moving

or even, it seems,

noticing much.

My practice is less steadfast.

It crawls up my skin,

twitches & tickles,

skitters along the surface,

makes me wonder

if these are my ancestors

come to encourage me,

as relations often do,

in the most inconvenient of ways.

Everything has a skin—

this cushion with its thousand stitches,

stones & their history of water,

the smallest flea, its translucent blue-black wing.

But isn’t the nasturtium

agitated

by the hummingbird’s

constant noisy slurs?

Does the pond resent the wind

brushing ripples into the portrait

of mountains & clouds

it has been painting

all morning?

How did the Buddha learn to say

to the she-mosquitoes,

“You, with your fertile thirst,

come to me

& drink”?

Tassajara, September 2007

∞

From the Spring 2013 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 29, No. 2)

© 2013 Minal Hajratwala, used by permission of the author. This poem was later published in her book Bountiful Instructions for Enlightenment, published by The (Great) Indian Poetry Collective, 2014.