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In
Hammond’s Garden
Buddhas sit among the pachysandra
Or stand along the stony pathways
Silent sentinels
Spiritual guides.
Life
and death display themselves
In every glance.
Here and there tender shoots of bright green
Dot the floor of the barren tree stand
Announcing the coming of spring.
As
if in preparation for its arrival,
Luc sweeps brittle leaves from the deck
And clears dead plant stalks from the flower beds.
Suddenly, the neighbor’s cat enters the garden,
Hides himself among the plants,
Then freezes in pounce position.
Birds screech in alarm and take nervous flight.
In
Hammond’s Garden
Spider webs abound.
The one inside the frog’s mouth
Catches my attention.
It’s laden with body parts from once live insects.
Perhaps it’s Mara making mischief,
Hoping to frighten me away.
Elsewhere,
one slender thread of webbing
Hangs from the porch drainpipe.
Attached to its end is a single brown leaf
Which turns about endlessly in the breeze
And doesn’t let go.
A visual metaphor--
Windspun samsara.
I’m
sitting on the deck in Hammond’s Garden
Experiencing an in-between place.
Spring sun warms only one side of me.
Cool breezes,
Remnants of winter passing,
Move across my other side.
Half of me shivers.
In
Hammond’s Garden
People walk by slowly
As if in slumber
Eyes focused inward
Or at the forest floor.
I’m glad I appear invisible to them.
I’m feeling naked and exposed
In my lack of concentration.
I’m sure it shows.
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Self-focus
is pushing out mindfulness
And concepts are piling up
Waiting to replace experience.
I’m trying to pay attention, but honestly
I’m feeling hungry and unfocused.
I’d love to slip into a personal story
Or spend the rest of this sit
In a freewheeling fantasy.
Wisdom
whispers
"Take skillful action
Go sit beside a garden Buddha
Be inspired by his stillness
And quiet strength.
See how he observes the cycle of life and death
Unfolding on the forest floor,
The drama does not catch and hold him
He is witness to reality
Without fear or interference.
His embodiment of equanimity
Teaches acceptance by example,
Leads those who listen deeply,
To inner freedom."
Hearing
this,
My mind, in one clear moment,
Chooses freedom over fantasy.
Suddenly I’m awake
And moving into skillful action.
I
rise, step off the deck,
In pilgrim steps with measured breath,
I walk a distance down the stony path
Stop
Survey the world of forest floor
Then, consciously insert myself
Into the web of forest life
By sitting on the ground
Among the pachysandra.
Bells
ring softly in the wind
Mind and heart drop into natural space.
Sunlight dapples down
And covers my shoulders
Like a prayer shawl.
Happiness,
I discover,
Is being nobody special
Keeping good company
Sitting beside a Buddha
Here in Hammond’s Garden.
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