I'm relatively fortunate, in that I don't much attach to things; so maybe the old Buddhist teacher made his point.
Memento Mori
We’re half asleep in the hot afternoon.While the fans stir the languid air,
the Ajhan’s voice cuts through to say:
“ถ้วยนี้แตก” (This cup is broken)
But it’s obviously not – its still in his hand,
But then as he smiles I think I understand:
All that arises will one day pass away;
अनिच्चा – Aniccatā: Impermanency.
I think on this walking back to my kuti. .
Tonight – the full moon, is the Uposatha,
when we will meditate until the dawn.
II
My turn to do the washing up but then
I drop the cup onto the hard refectory floor:
so many pieces scattered around my feet;
it reminds me of a lesson years before.
I tell the Brother and he smiles and says:
“Matthew six – nineteen and twenty:
Do not store up for yourselves treasures
On earth where the moths and rust destroy”.
“For where your treasure is
There will be your heart also”.
But my heart was not to my hearts liking.
So, it meant another monks life wasn’t to be.
Instead, I was to go and find a new life,
Which eventually led me to my wife.
III
It is how I shall always remember him:
legs sticking out from under the Kombi,
comfortable in his oil-stained overalls,
next to him his tea cooling in his cup.
Then before we knew it he was dying
with our last visit before our holiday
while we were walking on the beach at Cley
his death called us back again to London.
With the oaken coffin lined with sailcloth,
and his Kombi privileged as the hearse;
then afterwards the jazz band at the pub,
driving back to Norfolk slightly the worse.
IV
In the morning before we left his wife –
Gave me the cup – a memento of his life
and we both laughed – it being so apt.
so, I took it away and still use it today
but with all that I possess and hold dear
it will break, but until then I’ll use it
as casually as did he, treasuring
it as a Memento Mori in life.
© D G Moody 2024
Poetry by D G Moody
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Written on 2024-07-29 at 16:25
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