| home :: lens culture blog :: contribute :: archives :: links |
| |
FOR KWAN YIN
After “Buddha Mama,” Photograph, Julia Lehman
Poem by Aaren Perry
As a man I studied love so hard, suffered continents of oppression so far
I became a woman, a minister of compassion so strong with life
I can stand knee deep in death and plant with glance of joy and touch of hope
The cindered fields of war, make lotus blossom, poppy furl, lily bloom.
Use them for your weddings, births, funerals. Take them,
As they would take you, should you want to return. But you are lost.
You didn’t come here for this, did you? I see you brought tobacco.
Sit please. Relax, I am the only mother you have: mother of all tribes and races.
Mother of river and tree, who spreads open perfumed flesh petals.
One of sea, one of sky to birth each wave each day, each night.
Mother of 19 moons. Teacher of distance touch and inner healing.
Mother of your brother the word, your sister music. Their true name
is unknown to you, their own child, until they are gone.
I gave my body to the ravages of rebirth until my blood turned green.
This orange also you will need to understand. That fire my courage, blue sky
my wisdom that wisdom comes and goes. If you don’t believe me,
Take a sip of that indigo moonlight, bow to the person nearest. This drop
of honey quenches. Only by scattering can my rings return from shore.
Should the precious blossom in that tree not have once withered, browned, failed,
disappeared from your grasp, she would not have returned.
By the gift of grace in your eyes, I see you too are unwilling to abate
The travails of the mother – her compassion, begotten from suffering, holds
the light that brings one closer to oneness, and letting oneness go.
I know, cliché by now, but truth is truth. Without your own suffering
you would never have come to find me here, seen through me.
You will not see me once you decide to let go
but I will be there with you always.
Get in that canoe. I will take you down the river
of feeling. By the time you step out you will know that everything
your grandchildren will ever need to know about happiness
you are already pregnant with. It’s easy. Leave everything you own
right there by that fire. Yes, your shoes, your clothes.
Come now, it’s getting dark. Much can be seen in the dark.
Posted by jimcasper at April 17, 2006 05:20 AM