I Light the Incense

I light the incense in my small room. Nag Champa, my favourite and my grandma's favourite. My mother loved sandalwood best. But Nag Champa takes me to the Himalayas, the breathtaking peaks, where the snow lion walks on large soft paws, elusive, mythical. The Himalayas, where smiling weathered faces peer from dark rooms lit by flickering candles. 

I light the incense in my small room, a dark Tibetan kitchen framed upon the wall, an aged wrinkled Tibetan face hung above. Tibetan prayer flags flutter, as the breeze wafts the scent my way.

In memory, I see my Grandma's humble, peaceful cottage. In memory, I watch my mother light small cones of sandalwood, her huge blue eyes, her platinum hair, her movie star smile.

I light the incense in my small room. How quickly it burns itself to ash.

Blessings

Blessings......

monks' bare feet walking

across the winter landscape

just walking, as meditation, as love,

as compassion, as gift -

to hearts and minds bowed down with grief

at what is becoming of our world.

Right here, right now,

a light skiff of frost on the lawn,
crocuses shivering in the morning chill,

my chair, my computer, my keyboard

seeking the next poem, some hope,

the comfort in a cup of tea......

ordinary things, surrounding us,
ready to serve -

small gifts, to warm the heart,

while, day after day, mile

after mile, the beautiful monks

keep walking along the icy streets.

Today it is colder, so Aloka the dog

is placed in the RV. I hope the monks

have all put on their shoes.

How thin their robes,

how large their journey,

a gift of love and light they give us

with their every measured step.

How emotional, the tears and smiles

with which they are met, by people

hungry for goodness, for kindness,

for peace in a world gone dark.

for my prompt at What's Going On - Blessings

I penned this while the monks were still walking. Their walk ended February 14 when they returned to their home monastery in Texas. Such an emotional return. I was online with them their final week, could not tear myself away. The walk is over. The journey continues. No doubt, there will be more monk poems. Their walk is one of the most impactful events of my life. It spoke to my soul, which has been so hungry - like all of ours - for the beauty and hope they brought.

They say when monks walk, it is a warning, that the world is too out of balance. I was heartened by the tens of thousands of people who gathered to watch them pass, and who joined them in huge numbers at their stopping places, to hear the teachings of Bhikkhu Pannakara, about how to stay steady and find peace in the midst of turbulent times. We all fell in love with the little monk dog Aloka who walked with them.

It is sad that the walk has ended. But Bhikkhu promised we will still walk together online. If you are interested, their facebook page is   https://www.facebook.com/walkforpeaceusa

On youtube, there are many beautiful videos of their walk and some beautiful songs have been made into videos. Search for Walk for Peace, Aloka, and Sy Long (for the songs). So inspiring. I cant watch any of it without tears. We carry so much grief these days.

ALOKA

 

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Aloka,
little monk-dog,
leading with your paws for peace,
your name means light,
your devotion so great,
you walked through heat
and storm and snow
to follow your beloved monks
as far as they could go.

Stray dog in India,
when they passed,
you recognized you had found
your family at last.
Who could have known
that now you are adored
by millions, walking for peace
at the other end
of a cord.

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You stayed serene
through pain and parting,
long hours of speeches,
longer hours of walking,
as if in memory of other lives,
this was a life
you recognized.

Now you are home, so happily,
and I am happier to see
you playing in the temple yard
after a journey so long and hard.

Aloka, little monk of life,
spirit dog, you ease our strife.

Aloka, little monk-dog, know
we love you everywhere you go.

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Alan Gordon

FIVE THINGS

 

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1. I probe my feelings like an energy diviner, rods bending to identify grief, beauty, sorrow, hopefulness, the energy we have lived in the last few weeks as the beloved monks and Aloka walked across this country in the bitter cold - for peace, for compassion - for us. It is the first day without them, as they head home. Bhikkhu Panakara's sad face, waving through the bus window. So hard to say goodbye. Remembering how he cried, walking to the Lincoln Memorial, because he was overwhelmed by the numbers of people who stood in the cold to see them pass, all moved by the beauty of their journey - so starved, our hearts, in these troubled times for something beautiful to light up the darkness. So hard to have it end. Yet it has been one of the most profoundly beautiful passages of my life.

2. Through blizzards, snowstorms, biting winds, sometimes barefoot, sometimes ill, they kept walking. Even when one young monk lost his leg after being hit by a car. Even when Aloka the peace dog needed surgery and rehabilitation. Step after step, from Texas to Washington, as we all woke up to their journey, joined them along the roadside, or online, our hearts remembering - because they showed us - humanity, compassion, respect, the goodness in human hearts, so many of us longing for peace. Brought to tears daily by their beauty, the sacrifice they made, for us, for all beings. Trying to move past the grief of this ending to the bigness of their offering.

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3. Sitting in the sun, rocking, in the place of No Thought: May all beings be well, happy and at peace. Sunshine. Warmth. Birdsong. Simply rocking. The way they walked, one step, another step. Simply walking - to change the world. And we awakened.

4. Remembering that we are still connected in the family of souls, that we can revisit the videos, the facebook page, to see their beloved faces, hear their voices, share the quest for peace in ourselves, in all beings, in the world. "They did not walk to be remembered. They walked so we might remember who we are."

5. The walk for peace has ended, but the journey continues. Namaste.

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Creating Sanctuary

 

I built my house of driftwood and sea fog,

wrapped it around me, the way a sand dollar

creates its home from sand and grit around it

and carries it within.

I go there when the world is loud and cruel,
injustice and inhumanity too much to bear,

pull the drawbridge up, bathe in silence

and necessary peace, turn off the news,

turn on gratitude, quietude,
my beating heart
steadying

like the ticking clock on the windowsill

of my childhood.

I create a sanctuary there, where cruelty

has no place, and beauty
and compassion still exist
- (that line of monks, padding softly
through the snow) -
where all the values I hold dear

still shine. I create poems in that peaceful place,
a line of walking monks, some grace,

reminding us that beauty is still here,

kindness still lives. They are telling us

it is still all ours to give.

for Susan's prompt at What's Going On: Creation

The Journey

 

I have been a different woman every decade,

growing from terrified child to lost teen,

from oppressed wife to liberated free spirit,

from single mother to voyageur -

that one leap midlife the beginning

of a whole other journey.

I forgive the many missteps

that got me here. It takes a tree

a long time to grow strong and wise,
with flexible boughs to bend with every wind.

I make peace with having done

the best I could. Given my beginnings,

there is no way it could have been

otherwise.

I built my scaffold with hammer and tong,
making do with whatever lay at hand,

wove my spirit's home out of driftwood

and sea spray, set my sights forever

on blue sky. The call of the wolf

has always been

my reason why.

From the Edge of Hope

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Fellow traveller,

across the cold, hard landscape

of our broken dreams,

I bid you safe passage,

(a safe journey, a safe return,)

a door open wide

on arrival to shelter you,

cool water to drink,

sustenance

and rest.

Masked men with guns

have overtaken the road

most travelled.

See the empty cars

with smashed windows

by the side of the road.

See the children inside,

wondering where

their parent has gone.

Where to find shelter

in a world so dark?

The forests are full

of hungry animals

who have been displaced.

Prison camps are full

of traumatized humans

whose lives have been blown apart.

How did we make
a world like this?
How do we dream
a better dream,
shelter for every
seeking heart?

My heart finds shelter

in a line of monks in orange robes,

walking across a winter landscape,

walking for peace - for compassion

- for hope - step after step,

not stopped by the bitter cold,

forward, only forward,

into whatever comes next.

I can only offer a blessing

for your travels.

(A safe journey, a safe return.)

May all beings find

a place of safety in which

to weather the storms ahead.

May all beings find shelter

behind that welcoming door.

(A safe journey, and a safe return.)

for Mary's prompt at What's Going On - Shelter.