Hidden - Mercan Dede

One…

One Buddha is enough

One…

One Buddha is not enough

One…

Buddha is enough

One…

One is Buddha

One…

I am breathing now for an old Buddhist monk

Small as the first moon

Hidden in the stillness of the heron’s breathless, emerald wing

And for the yoga that Christ taught

On his Tree of Love.

Though the sun may sit like a chariot on stilts of flame and cherry glass

Suffering into happiness

The way of empty hands

Chanting the secrets that make it bright.

And the wicked,

In that Palace of Ruins,

Curse the pureness

Its purse of one coin.

The small shadows of this day we are given

Bolted into the thrush of emptiness

And here on a Dantean hill,

Confusions may brew

When the Tea-singers begin their vows of silence.

In the raiment of this town

Not of the sun’s rising

A tear of sadness for all the worldly joy

As moths return to their torched graves

And springs arrive early in every season

Telegraphed into their own heart of good fortune

Chanting, «One Buddha is not enough.»

Buddha.

Springs arrive early in every season.

One Buddha is enough.