TCOB

“Buddha, what do you mean when you state that desire is the cause of suffering?” the Poet asked.

“I mean to indicate not only one’s own desire, but also that of others. One can remove oneself from the world but still be a vital part of it in ways that others will not understand until they do the same… and it is okay if they never do!

Let them live, for are we not living? Let them die believing what they will, for will we not also die?

True compassion lies not in meddling in the business of others but in attending to our own.”

With that, Buddha took the final stone. A curious rock. Blood-spattered. Wrapped in chains. He regarded it with his knowing smile and tossed it to the Poet.

“You throw this one, and make a wish,” Buddha said.

“Will it come true?” asked the Poet.

“It doesn’t matter,” replied Buddha, “so long as you wish with a pure heart.”

“But isn’t that desire?” The Poet was confused but delighted by the possibility of catching the Buddha in a technicality.

“Of course not, young ward, for a pure heart wishes things as they are, not as it desires them to be.”

The Buddha’s knowing smile was contagious. The Poet laughed and beheld the stone. The blood was gone. The chains were gone. In his hands he held a jewel of indescribable, incomparable beauty.

Into the Abyss it went, rolling over and over forever, sparkling in the light of their smiles, a sun that gave warmth and hope to all.

***** * *****

Rommentary:

This should be the final piece in my Buddha and the Poet trilogy. Here are the first two:

And here is a stand-alone "Untold Tale of the Buddha":

As to whether there will be more on the illustrious, illusive, and elusive figure, I cannot say, but it seems Buddha has reached the Poet and disavowed him of his melancholy nature, at the very least. Nevertheless, Sorrow remains one of the many colors on the Poet's Pallette, and must certainly recur from time to time in his endless discourse...