Sunday December 19
*
A glimpse
forth on the way up to the span
to the leading light of my long day
slight gentle beautiful determined bright one
patiently making her way
she firmly alone firmly herself
to quietly remind me
that not so far away
for she I we two
our warm and bright
future day
and to her then to say to tell
of our return upon the Zi chu
as it flows upon it's way
to the great Dri chu Yangtze
and of our climb from it's banks
to the steep ravine
that looks down upon
the place called Derge
There to make our way
to the courtyard where stands
the temple that rises above
the stones of it's foundation
with walls of hard packed earth
dark brown earth below
adorned with colors bright
upon it's heights
we've returned
to Derge Parkhang beautiful one
Up the winding stair we go
from whence comes the sound
of mallet upon gouge
iron moving through wood
smooth unfettered motion
to form the wondrous visages
and sacred script
each peice to join
the thousands that wait here
xylograph blocks are they
To look out across the floor
to where the mountain light
pours into a window
upon a silhoutted figure
bowed intently over
a peice of handmade paper
brush in hand
that flies over it
as birds upon the sky
after a midsummer rain
a figure gazes up at him
Shakyamuni Buddha with compassionate gaze
as he must have upon
those who came to hear his words
millenia ago
upon the plains of India
beneath the Bodhi tree
Beneath him characters that form
as though from the very air
beneath the yak hair brush
held in the skilled hand
that pauses for moment
the brush is raised
the quiet peering down
at nigh completed page
a few more strokes
its creator satisfied
upon the rack it sits to dry
It to be moved with gentle care
to where blocks of wood
planed with sharpened iron
sit gleaming upon a bench
from far came the wood
from which they were formed
mountainsides beneath the rain
but so much farther have the words
come from places far away
from the depths of time
whether hidden in trunk of sandalwood
or within column of temple in Yarlung valley
or above ledge in the darkness of cave
hidden above a mysterious lake
or with haste scrawled down
by one who travelled a thousand miles
struggling over staggering heights
vast plains as far as the eye could see
to sit before an enlightened mind
we rest and look upon this wondrous script
long ago the paper returned to earth
fire war dust wear and rain
but the words lived on and still remained
within the minds to be written by human hand
again and yet again
All this not so wonderful
to my straining eyes
as your determined beauty
and swift uplifted grace
that endures with patient dignity
this that I see in you
beneath the open sky
on this afternoon
of our winter of working and waiting
Lotus blossoms rest
upon the window sill
and so we wait
two as one
we our effort
real and lasting
slight gentle
beautiful one
December 15
* courtesy of A Luminous Diamond (Bright) Crystal Show productions.
reference material for the poem is courtesy of the Footprint Tibet handbook by Gyurme Dorje.