Under the Bodhi Tree

The Buddha’s head was on the ground again, and the coins were scattered about. I focused in my heart, grounded myself in love, and bent over to check the damage.

The left shoulder was still glued in place. I picked up the head, rubbed off the dust, and caressed what remained of its nose. I breathed in, drawing the malice of those who’d done this into the love in my heart, and breathed out, returning loving understanding.

I placed the head back on the statue’s neck, gathered the coins – pennies, with a few dimes – and placed them back on the altar stone. I breathed in, drawing the violence of those who’d done this into the joy in my heart, and breathed out, returning peace and harmony.

Someone had stretched a beaded, blue elastic band over the statue. It didn’t really match, but it helped hold the pieces together. I breathed in, drawing the pain of those who tended this shrine into the wisdom in my heart, and breathed out, returning balance.

I paused to assess the results of my efforts, and one of the Arboretum’s maintenance carts whirred by. I stood, bowed to the shrine in the Hindu fashion, and continued on my way.

Namaste,

Glen

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