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.
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).
ReplyDeleteI 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