To be a Buddha is to be the memory of a mountain
the silence of a ghost between two breaths.
a flame in the lantern knowing the light is living
a river that can sleep with hush of a thousand years
with the pearl of and oyster’s universe
and the lotus in a pond of mahoghny
the wind is a brush painting a portrait of a ghost
the moon a shadow of Michaelangelo
the stars a million diamonds in the dark
and the eyes of a mirror reflecting Plato
a world of a million colors in a single drop of dew
with the heartbeat of a thorn clinging to the rose
to be a Buddha the door remains open
the geometry still counting beads on the abacus
climbing the ladder of the rosary
the beauty of being the shadow in the mist
with a philosophical weight
and echos of a thousand bells
the egg called Adam crossing river of time
in the flicker of a candle in an open dream
the land of the sun
to be a Buddha,
“Mairzy doats and dozy doats
and liddle lamzy divey”
I love how the poem folds its many worlds into one quiet stillness. A lovely read, Atticus 🙂
Buddhism is inner peace with the soul. Thank you, Curly.