Poems for Eden

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    So I sat all day
    in a wishing grove
    watching beauty in her many
    forms…

    Wonder upon wonder
    feeding time into time
    Every flavor of life
    seems to be here in this One Bright
    spot.

    I came here also on the day when I
    met Padmasambhava
    in something like a dream

    Sitting here in the shadows
    Now is akin to
    music.

    ...

    Into the earth, up to the sky
    A place of no more dreaming

    Opens to a wishing grove
    We’ve been here all the time

    Shedding tears, for you
    Avalokitesvara

    Could never have imagined
    what really *feels like* a tree of souls

    I hung a tag
    In view of a golden Apple.

    ...

    4-10-2011

    I am sitting on a bench in the Wishing Grove. It is embarrassing to have my attention on a page, but I do it anyway. I am in no hurry at all, have arrived here, before the crowds and the heat of the day. Wishes blow lightly all around and sometimes I begin crying for no reason. There have been a few groups by already, but they are quiet, even the children’s bubbling laughter, and the one yelling “I have a grasshopper” doesn’t intrude with the quiet. So far, four languages… one man telling his loved one “these are buddhist prayers to heaven.”

    I think the wish box is empty. What shall I write? Prayers for Japan, prayers for Friend, for this spot, this sacred space that drew me... Next time I will wish for myself. A young women is reading the wishes aloud to her boyfriend “for a bunny”, “for  a better soccer moment”, ”for Japan”, “I love this tree. I love my family so much.”

    The leaves are making my favorite sound, playing with the winds. I understand why wish in this way, open to the ground and to the sky. My grandfather loves trees too, and the ocean which I can smell from here. This is paradise.

    So this is enactment… appreciation.
    Coral gardens and bright spring blooms all around. Lush deep greens
    and crawling vines like one’s very skin.

    Orchids. A Jade vine is bluish with bright green flowers!

    Wilhemina believed in ghosts I think, and I think that I can
    hear her here. Now I understand why the hours and hours
    in the gardens…

    Why, the beauty mattered!

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