PART II
You of noble
birth
lay unconscious
for three nights
and four days
and when you
came to your senses
this is perhaps
what you thought:
‘What happened?’
Try to
comprehend
this is your
transitional moment,
You will now see
every sansaric
moment
and things and
people therein
in their
transience
as confusion and
chaos,
and your most
noble feelings
will take
sculptured form
and appear
before you
like so many
deities,
and you will see
brilliant beams
of light
fanning out
golden warmth.
Thereafter,
issuing from the
Central Realm
in the purest
white
and seated upon a
lion-throne
an eight-spoked
wheel in hand,
clothed by the wondrous
mother
of endless
skies,
will manifest
before you
the incomparable
Bhagavan Vairochana,
the Celestial
Buddha;
it is the
aggregate of matter
dissolved into the
blue light
of primordial
state.
Shining and
transparent
glorious and
dazzling
cast forth as
Father-Mother
from the heart
of Vairochana
the wisdom of
the dharmic essence
will shoot and
strike thee
with light
radiant beyond known radiance
and thou wilt
scarce forbear to look upon it.
And from within
thee
by karmic decree
of the negatives
there will arise
fear
there will arise
terror
and thou wilt
look to flee.
Do not be startled
have no fear
for this is the
Thathagatha Light!
Look upon it
with utmost fervor
place thy faith in
it
be unwavering,
it is the light
of ultimate compassion
wrought in the
heart
of the Bhagavan
Vairochana
a grace that
comes forth
to receive thee
entangled as
thou art
in the dangerous
ambuscade
of thy transit,
look upon it
consider it therefore
with untrammeled
devotion!
And repeat after
me these words:
May the Bhagavan
Vairochana
draw me into the
orbit of the Dharmic Essence
and its wisdom,
deluded and wandering
as I am in Sansara.
Repeat after me:
May I be led
safely across
the fearful ambush of transience
and placed in
the state
of All-Perfect
Buddhahood![1]
A familiar
voice,
whose is it?
To identify
correctly
he pondered long.
He was standing,
as though in a
trance
at that dismal
place
where fifteen
years before
his mother they
buried.
Nothing has
changed,
sloping down
clothed in the
blue of clover,
the same hillock
as it was
before,
and between
slope and paddy field
a brook gurgled
over and around
interrupting
rock,
and he heard
that voice again:
Blessed are the poor
in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are the
meek, for they shall possess the land.
Blessed are they
who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the
clean of heart, for they shall see God.[2]
Spread across
the open field
the dew-laden white
cloth
danced in breeze-driven
undulation,
and in time to
that quiet and tender music
rose the cry of
a mother-seeking calf
from the village
at cemetery’s
end.
‘Allah is Most
Great!
I testify that
there is no god except Allah!
I pray to thee
seeking succor
I pray to thee to
show the true path,
the path of
those who receive thy compassion
the path of
those who thou dost not spurn
the path of
those who will not stray
the clear and
direct path
of those who are
not led astray.’
And the cow
responded to calf
the wafting
voice
decked with the
tinkle of bell
strung across
her neck.
The tinkling
sound
merged with brook
and breeze
and in that
overwhelming symphony
he could
identify a voice,
his mother
who passed on
fifteen (or was
it twenty?) years before.
‘Of all thoughts
that delight and
plague
there is nothing
more compelling
than “I”;
and “I” is the
most ancient thought
birthed in the
minds of all.
If you followed
the “I”-thread
all the way to where
it began
in that ancient
place will be scripted
these
interminable line:
Just as it was
the first thought to enter mind,
until the end
will remain “I”.
And yet,
if one asked
for the very
first time,
“Who am I?”
within him in
that very instant
will arise
something else
that will entice,
that will capture.
It lies beyond
mind,
is eternal,
endless
and
heavenly.
And that is the
Kingdom of God,
that is the
Heaven of Heavens,
that is Nirvana,
enlightenment,
you could call it;
and it is about
the discovery of man by man,
the encounter of
self and self. ‘[3]
The voice,
unmistakably his
mother’s voice
was none other
than his,
he
realized.
He sank his
knees
deep in the blue
of clover and dew,
clasped his
hands in veneration
worshipped that
earth-piece
which held his
long-dead mother.
There was a
flower,
white it was this
solitary bloom;
he bent low and
kissed it soft.
‘It was you, my
mother,
you who for 10
long months
held me in womb,
who suffered
endless sorrows
and bequeathed me
to this world.’
When I cried
when I whimpered
in infantile hunger
it was you
who gathered sweet
potato leaves
sprinkled salt
mixed with
shredded coconut
and satiated
with food and love.
It was also you,
mother of the
early awakening
who cooked and
delivered
breakfast-parts
and from the
small change
that wayside
boutique offered
clothed me in
the sparse ways possible.
It was you who
walked
In grasslands
and shrub
gathered rush
and reed
applied pigment red
and green
wove a myriad
mats
many colored,
many patterened
and taught
without teaching, without word
that the
universe was but pattern,
a design, a
configuration.
I did not know
then,
Amma,
that your face
was a mirror
reflecting the
mind
that resides in
me now,
that is mine,
that is me,
I did not see in
those sunken eyes
not one sign of
joy, indistinct or faint,
did not see
sorrow either.
Having suffered
with equanimity
all joys and all
sorrows
did you find
peace of mind,
I wonder.
As for me,
I earned wealth
was showered
with accolade and reward,
acquired mansion
and vehicles,
obtained not any
peace,
however.
Did you
understand,
did you know
did you envisage
these truths
in your wise extrapolations,
without nothing
of my
endowments?
Beautiful. Amazingly beautiful.
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