© 2008
Marcus Cumberlege
How can my feeble brain conceive of the countless aeons Amida thought of me before formulating his or her best selected vow?
Perhaps I should try to imagine myself contemplating one tip of fur on a rabbit’s back for a thousand lifetimes.
After scribbling two poems I lie down exhausted on my bed to rest. Kuan Yin, disguised as the madonna in the niche opposite, watches over me through the window.
For a few moments I struggle to get some shut-eye before my restless mind starts playing tricks again.
My friends will be here before long to collect their White Ladies. My forehead pulses. The bell rings.
Take a man-size marble statue of Amida and start rubbing it with your thumb.
The time you need to erase it completely is the period suffering humanity has been drifting from life to life on this patient planet of ours.
For five kalpas Amida sat for me. Today I will sit five minutes for him.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Ekō 118 |
|
© 2008 |
info-at-jikoji.com | ||||
| home |