Post 260: meditation, hitchhiking, Buddha,

by Carol Bass

On the Way to the Flower Farm

MESSENGERS

they don’t even know how they keep us burning

Gregory always walked from his house on Highway 174
to market or the gas station
I had passed him for months, even years,
me wondering, he wandering
he didn’t appear to be employed

never asking for a ride
walking like Thich Nhat Hanh
hands clasped
I had seen what I thought was a ceramic Buddha in his yard
I assumed he was enlightened
beyond us all

this morning I offered him a ride, it was cold
and the sun bright and hopeful
we spoke along the way
I learned his name
asked if he was Buddhist

our eyes locked for a moment and he said,
“I’m just trying to take the proper steps”

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