- Maitreya's statue is growing,
- Golden and bronze, rising in the plain.
- At the gate, his feet embracing,
- He is the guardian of the door,
- to a stupa of many treasures,
- Rising in his honor.
- Maitreya is awaiting,
- in his Tushita Heaven.
- He is the Buddha of future Salvation,
- of dreams deferred,
- supplications unanswered.
- Do you worship Maitreya?
- do you see his visage,
- are you looking forward or behind?
- Better to ask;
- are you worshipping the thus come one?
Or following in his footsteps?
- do you see him casting a shadow?
- Or do you see him in kind?
- Is maitreya in your mind?
- This statue so remote, so close,
- Those ears so long, so perfect.
- The Lionlike body so golden, so impossible,
- those perfect features a cloak
- to make you think the Buddha is distant and remote.
- A god ineffable, to be supplicated, to be begged.
- The real Buddha was a skinny guy,
- who left his throne on the fly,
- and wandered in crowds, and sometimes alone,
- and realized something he wanted to share.
- You listen to that still quiet voice if you dare.
- He didn't want to be worshipped, just heard.
- You see the cost of his decision,
- when you see the joy of those raising statues to Maitreya.
Chris Holte 10/9/2001
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