I walk along a tiny street, the smell of rotting fish and exhaust all around me
Shopkeepers shout to me, spend here, I`ll show you as I make my way to the fencepost.
Inside, the walls rise higher than my sight, so what is within is flanked by clear sky.
And the contrast there in the garden is such that I no longer hear cars passing
I can only smell the small patch of green grass
And I float to the entrance, bow my head and remove my shoes
And I leave the world outside as I crawl through a tiny opening in the wall
And my head is close to fresh tatami mats where everyone else has knelt
And made their way with unsure hands and trembling heart
To this altar�cwhere the ordinary is sublime.
And with lowered eyes we all bow to our teacher--coal and incense and steam fill the air
As we settle onto our knees, steady our hands, humble at last, and ready to receive
The greatest gifts of life.
Turning the warm cup in my hands, I no longer remember the smell of the street
The taste of life on my lips, bitter and sweet�c
A reminder that I should always seek the balance.
To cherish pain and honor loss and have compassion
But also to know that wisdom is born of adversity and that solace has its limits�c
That nourishment comes with a price you must pay.
The first taste timid, the second one burns, and then
A third to complete the ritual-- a pledge that
We will take the heat of this life and treasure it
We will seek for a patch of green grass in a dirty city
We will make a place of beauty in the rubble
We will make our souls thirst for knowledge
We will honor wisdom
We will drink from the mountain
We will shun the tendency to be too proud
We will
We will
I replace my cup on the deep blue felt, I place my hands on the mat again
And renewed, I crawl back to the opening in the paper screen.
I feel the sunlight on my face and am absolved.

(copyright 2000 Lynley Asay)