"You are looking for what is looking."
~ St. Francis of Assisi
Sunday, May 24, 2009
A Poem by Thich Naht Hahn
A Teacher Looking For His Disciple
I have been looking for you, my child, Since the time when rivers and mountains still lay in obscurity. I was looking for you when you were still in a deep sleep Although the conch had many times echoed in the ten directions. Without leaving our ancient mountain I looked at distant lands And recognized your steps on so many different paths. Where are you going, my child? There have been times when the mist has come And enveloped the remote village but you are still Wandering in far away lands. I have called your name with each breath, Confident that even though you have lost your Way over there you will finally find a way back to me. Sometimes I manifest myself right on the path You are treading but you still look at me as if I were a stranger You cannot see the connection between us in our Former lives you cannot remember the old vow you made. You have not recognized me Because your mind is caught up in images concerning a distant future. In former lifetimes you have often taken my hand and we have enjoyed walking together. We have sat together for a longtime at the foot of old pine trees. We have stood side by side in silence for hours Listening to the sound of the wind softly calling us And looking up at the while clouds floating by. You have picked up and given to me the firstred autumn leaf And I have taken you through forests deep in snow. But wherever we go we always return to our Ancient mountain to be near to the moon and stars To invite the big bell every morning to sound, And help living beings to wake up.
We have sat quietly on the An Tu mountain' with the Great Bamboo Forest Master Alongside the frangipani trees in blossom. We have taken boats out to sea to rescue the boat people as they drift. We have helped Master Van Hanh design the Thang Long capital we have built together a thatched hermitage, And stretched out the net to rescue the nun Trac Tuyen When! The sound of The rising tide was deafening On the banks of The Tien Duong river. Together we have opened the way and stepped Into the immense space outside of space.
After many years of working to tear asunder the net of time. We have saved up the light of shooting stars And made a torch helping those who want to go home After decades of wandering in distant places. But still there have been times when the Seeds of a vagabond in you have come back to life you have left your teacher, your brothers and sisters Alone you go...
I look at you with compassion Although I know that this is not a true separation (Because I am already in each cell of your body) And that you may need once more to play the prodigal son. That is why I promise I shall be there for you Any time you are in danger.
Sometimes you have lain unconscious on the hot sands of frontier deserts. I have manifested myself as a cloud to bring you cool shade. Late at night the cloud became the dew And the compassionate nectar falls drop by drop for you to drink. Sometimes you sit in a deep abyss of darkness Completely alienated from you true home. I have manifested Myself as a long ladder and Lightly thrown myself down So that you can climb up to the area where there is light To discover again the blue of the sky and the Sounds of the brook and the birds.
Sometimes I recognised you in Birmingham, In the Do Linh district or New England. I have sometimes met you in Hang Chau, Xiamen, or Shanghai I have sometimes found you in St. Petersburg or East Berlin. Sometimes, though only five years old, I have Seen you and recognized you.
Because of the seed of bodhchita, you carry in your tender heart. Wherever I have seen you, I have always raised My hand and made a signal to you, Whether it be in the delta of the North, Saigon or the Thuan An Seaport. Sometimes you were the golden full moon hanging Over the summit of The Kim Son Mountain, Or the little bird flying over the Dai Laoforest during a winter night. Often I have seen you But you have not seen me, Though while walking in the evening mist your clothes have been soaked. But finally you have always come home.
You have come home and sat at my feet on our ancient mountain Listening to the birds calling and the monkeys Screeching and the morning chanting echoing from the Buddha Hall. You have come back to me determined not to be a vagabond any longer. This morning the birds of the mountain joyfully welcome the bright sun. Do you know, my child, that the white clouds Are still floating in the vault of the sky? Where are you now?
The ancient mountain is still there in this Place of the present moment. Although the white-crested wave still wants to Go in the other direction, Look again, you will see me in you and in every leaf and flower bud. If you call my name, you will see me right away. Where are you going?
The old frangipani tree offers its fragrant flowers this morning. You and I have never really been apart. Spring has come. The pines have put out new shining green needles And on the edge of the forest, the wild Plum Trees have burst into flower.