There were no mirrors

When the buddha first set out
in his ways of understanding
he was young.
There were no mirrors.
He could not see
how fragile he was
in the context of his city.

All he had were his thoughts
to keep him company.

Beginner's mind was a thing
that he tried for
again and again and again.
Gliding down the river of consciousness
the onslaught of evolutionary madness
that is in us...
swim, against the current
swim, swim
before you drown us....

I don't know how he did it
but at last, he got to shore.
Put a hand on the bank
and held on
and he did rest there.

When walking down the streets
his shining countenance
was a gravity well.
They came to him
with a foreign will upon them.
He did nothing to make it so.
He did nothing to resist it.
He just smiled
and welcomed them
into the shelter of his peace.
And they bowed their heads and cried
not knowing why
but he knew.

There they sat and drank him in
and swam in his
magnificent ocean.
The cells in their
stardust bodies
ceased their endless toil
of dying
and of giving birth, to themselves...
transcended, finding
peace.

Cosmic circles
danced around
and erupted
in that place
where they all sat
and they explored the cosmos
even though they
didn't move an inch.

Time and space are an illusion
so they held hands with their ancestors
and, with their descendants
and they bowed together as one
and they smiled
the most beautiful smile
and he joined them
and he carried on his way.

Most words are pointless
so he didn't say very much.

And he still hasn't
to this day.