A teacher under the Bodhi tree
Opened the pages of his heart
And as he began instructing me
My deconstruction found its start
This old library had so much to choose
Yet his words were very sparing
Having discarded so many views
He’d discovered those most caring
No bitterness from defeat
Also no victory parade
Laughing off the devil’s deceit
As a fiction purely self-made
Returning to the Bodhi tree
A thousand years in the ground
That teacher has become me
A new library of the profound
Inspired by the paragraph at the Road To Nara blog:
Well, personally it has been the most blessed thing to have found friendships in living books- that are these elderly souls walking, waiting to be asked, to be poked- to only turn into child like once again. But it is also true as much that the one will find you, the one you might be searching for. These friends don’t only carry stories, but discipline in varied ways. Experience of the land that can be found nowhere else. I bow to one such teacher who blessed me with a magic life saving skill.
1994ever 