Creature Speak

This image is a still from Becoming Who I Was, the film this poem is based on. It is a documentary about a child who was a Rinpoche in his previous lifetime, and is displaced from his home in Tibet due to reincarnating in a rural region of China. He must travel, with the help of his elderly guardian, from a village in wintering China, through India, to Tibet, in the hopes of being reunited with his disciples who must claim him in order for him to fulfill his purpose for reincarnating. But Tibetan borders, as we know, are blocked and heavily guarded.  I highly recommend the film, for the moving story, and for the stunning photography.

And now the poem.

Wandering Rinpoche

Hello, holy person,
Master, sacred one.
Your senses are
open like flowers
ready for bees.
A lotus, you are,
pink and perfect
in a sacred pond
few can see:
reflections on
the water of
your ancient life.

You hear things
louder than
others do.
It hurts so much,
you have to plug
your precious ears.
And some mistake
your sensitivity
for weakness
created by your
unresolved Karma.

They don’t see
that your openness
is the key to
your vast task
of compassion.
And they cast you out
of their temple,
for no one has come
to claim you.

But there are greater
challenges to face.
The ruthless white
of winter’s gates
will not be kind
on your quest.
Your feet, purple
from walking
and from cold
will want to stop,
give up, exhausted.
Your legs will tremble
upon the seemingly
endless road.

But you won’t give up.

You know the hands
of love have carried
you this far. And now,
with your weathered
feet, and your courage,
and determination
to find the place
where you belong,
you will finish
the journey.

They are waiting.

You will blow your conch
into the emptiness
until the monks nearby
can hear you:
whether from loudness,
or from your
shared silence.
Their shadows form
through the blizzard-veil.
Even golden robes
look dark here.
Not only the snow
is bright.

And Love itself
will pass you along
to Knowledge,
a new temple
for higher learning
on the border
of Tibet,
with tears and sorrow
and hope for
your future.

Be good to knowledge.

And even though
you are not yet home,
learn well
in those sacred walls.
Child of illumination,
grow your light
so even the borders
of your home, thick
with China’s patrol
can’t keep your
disciples away.

Blow your anointed
horn again and they
will hear you one day.
They will answer
your call. Your people
will come to claim you
at last, and call you
their own.

Copyright © 2018, Sheyorah Aossi