Gautama Buddha's first sermon at the Deer Park

Sorry I forget strictly when or how

It happened, but I suppose the summer

Had just set in, and noon was a witness

To the event in stillness of the sky

When stood perfect the non-self. While stitching

The robes of Choegyal I felt a sudden

Invasion of peace, as if a glad sun

Spread its magic over the day. Tranquil,

It entered into green of the valley

And newness streamed through the nerves. My fêted

Needle, amazed, repaired through the fabric,

And just then grew firm its rapturous haste.

It seemed I was born to another sense

And perceived even in the least flutter

Of the wind, or applaud of the torrent,

Or in ponderous climb of the wild yak

A universal Nothing. These ranges

Of the steep past surged yet to the silent

And benign peaks of snow, and old Ganden

Walked unto sorrowlessness of Desire.

There breathed no more the erstwhile disbelief

But revealed another trueness. It held

In its look these hundred thousand Buddhas.

I see a sudden city rise in these hills

To gather in its pace the speed of an age

That disdains not the quiet, nor the monk,

The nun, not even the mayor, hawker,

Shopkeeper, or the talkative poet,

But gives to them all the depth of its calm,—

As if an awed flame set aglow the world

To a warm reality. I tell you,

That day Jim Taylor came walking across

Low plains, across mountainous lands and asked

For me in the neighbourhood. Isn’t it strange!

He wished to learn the sewing art from me

And get a thread to stitch busy costumes!

RY Deshpande

22 August 2004

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8LpfCMd7j0&NR=1