"When sunlight falls on a crystal, lights of all colors of the rainbow appear; yet they have no substance that you can grasp. Likewise, all thoughts in their infinite variety are utterly without substance. This is the mind of the Buddha."
-Dilgo Khyntse Rimpoche
8.24.10 Galle Fort, Sri Lanka
The simple tea shop, really just a side room of a modest home, old yellow paint chipped away from the front facade, on a small, quiet lane, tucked inside the ancient Fort of Galle. The small display case in the doorway contained a few loaves of bread, uncut, and the inside, two small plastic tables, a few mismatched chairs, a small Buddha shrine in the corner, a candle lit in honor of the ancient sage, I smile when my eyes meet the delicate flame; the man, clad only in a worn blue sarong, his brown skin subdued by the early morning shadows, his hands working quickly, yet delicately-the strainer, the kettle, the tea leaves, the bowl of white sugar that stands out so, its old metal spoon to adorn; there is such focus in his movement, such grace; a meditation in life, in movement, Buddha in a cup of tea
“O foolish and afflicted mind,
You want, you crave, for everything.”
-Shantideva, A Guide to the Bodhistava’s Way of Life
“Sixty Six times these eyes have beheld the
Changing scenes of autumn.
I have said enough about moonlight;
Ask me no more.
Only listen to the voice of pines and cedars,
When no wind stirs.”
-unnamed Zen nun
8.27.10 Mirissa, Sri Lanka
The southern coast of Sri Lanka...spectacular...emerald blue seas inter dispersed with turquoise, crashing against golden brown sands, brightly painted fishing boats heaving with the waves, the sarong-clad fisherman casting out on ancient rods, their balance perfect against the powerful seas. Simple towns, a few buildings and an old Buddhist shrine, street vendors and sari clad women; bread shops, dishes always covered in cellophane, newspaper used for napkins and take away bags, a kindness, not particular, always felt. Whitewashed stupas and orange clad monks, I walked behind one today who shielded his shaved head from the harsh tropical heat with a beautiful yellow umbrella, the colors brought out the brilliance in eachother as he strode mindfully down the broken path. This place feels just about perfect, just about right; yet tomorrow, the road once again beckons, my time in this land winding down with so much left to see...i suppose always the case-everything must, as nature, change...I sit, study the words of Shantideva, the 11th Century Indian sage, wise thought has not changed with the millennia, only outward appearances...
“Since this is so, the wise man does not crave, for from such craving fear and anguish come.
And fix this firmly in your understanding: all that may be wished for by nature fades to nothing.
For people have gained a wealth of riches, enjoying reputation, sweet renoun.
But who can say where they have gone to now, with all the baggage of their gold and fame?”
-Shantideva, A Guide to the Bodhistava’s Way of Life
