Just be with the seven water bowls.
Their water offerings
Seven lakes. Mirrors,
Their stillness set out before Buddha,
As he gazes beyond time.
Just be with the puja table.
Four legs, oiled pine.
Perfectly flat surface,
With five books set out
For the deities.
Just be with this worn carpet of practice.
Solitary blue meditation cushion
A moon, an orbit,
An entire universe
Held in your mandala.
This practice, this entire set-up,
Is a way to know your truth.
To touch your architecture of self.
A mere sound in the forest,
Untraceable once the hermit thrush
Ceases her singing.
As if she never existed.
As if her song were a dream.
Photo copyright: Courtesy of iPhone and morning light.