Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Buddha's Dogs


Buddha's Dogs by Susan Browne


I'm at a day-long meditation retreat, eight hours of watching

my mind with my mind,

and I already fell asleep twice and nearly fell out of my chair,

and it's not even noon yet.


In the morning session, I learned to count my thoughts, ten in

one minute, and the longest

was to leave and go to San Anselmo and shop, then find an

outdoor cafe and order a glass


of Sancerre, smoked trout with roasted potatoes and baby

carrots and a bowl of gazpacho.

But I stayed and learned to name my thoughts, so far they are:

wanting, wanting, wanting,


wanting, wanting, wanting, wanting, wanting, judgment,

sadness, Don't identify with your

thoughts, the teacher says, you are not your personality, not your

ego-identification,


then he bangs the gong for lunch. Whoever, whatever I am is

given instruction

in the walking meditation and the eating meditation and walks

outside with the other

meditators, and we wobble across the lawn like The Night of the

Living Dead.

I meditate slowly, falling over a few times because I kept my

foot in the air too long.


towards a bench, sit slowly, and slowly eat my sandwich,

noticing the bread,

(sourdough), noticing the taste, (tuna, sourdough), noticing

the smell, (sourdough, tuna),


thanking the sourdough, the tuna, the ocean, the boat, the

fisherman, the field, the grain,


and the hope of getting through the rest of this day without

dying of boredom.

Sun then cloud then sun. I notice a maple leaf on my sandwich.

It seems awfully large.


Slowly brushing it away, I feel so sad I can hardly stand it, so I

name my thoughts; they are:

sadness about my mother, judgment about my father, wanting

the child I never had.


I notice I've been chasing the same thoughts like dogs around

the same park most of my life,

notice the leaf tumbling gold to the grass. The gong sounds,

and back in the hall,


I decide to try lying down meditation, and let myself sleep. The

Buddha in my dream is me,

surrounded by dogs wagging their tails, licking my hands.

I wake up


for the forgiveness meditation, the teacher saying, never put

anyone our of your heart,

and the heart opens and knows it won't last and will have to

open again and again,


chasing those dogs around and around in the sun then cloud,

then sun.




Like Siddhartha, Cathedral and Tartuffe, this poem shows the epiphany of listening and experiencing in order to learn. Much like all of these stories, this poem by Susan Browne shows how a day-long meditation retreat enhanced the thoughts of a common man. This man was experiencing dillusional behavior and soon learned that by a smiple act, such as reviewing your thoughts, you could free the body and mind.


Browne, Susan. "Buddha's Dogs." Poetry 180: A Turning Back to Poetry. Ed. Billy Collins. New York: Random House, 2003. 154.

1 comment:

  1. Kristina~I must say, you've created a fine blog about literary epiphanies. It's clear to me that you worked hard on it, and you can be proud of the result. (Your blog is AP-quality, there is no doubt about it; we'll have to talk later about that AP credit!) Your thesis is strong, and the works you've selected to support it with are appropriate. I wasn't as convinced by your discussion of Orgon (of Tartuffe fame), however. I mean, does he ever really learn to listen (which in this case might mean "to trust"), or does he have to "see things with his own eyes," being the stubborn guy that he is? I'd say the latter. I really enjoyed the poem you chose--it makes a nice connection to Siddhartha, among other things. (Too bad we didn't read it during class.) I do wish you had made a stronger connection to the "listening" idea, but your overall idea is a good one. Your grade? A- (for a job well done with a few minor inconsistencies/oversights).

    I enjoyed having you in class, too, Kristina, and I wish you well in your future endeavors. Good luck, and keep me posted!

    All the best,
    ~ Mr. L

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