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11/22/09 - (2)
Japanese Garden
Many hundreds of uneven steppingstones Lead me through the English Woodland Garden, Along a meandering footpath following a stream (A singing sluice spilling, by slow degrees, Past all twenty-four of its miniature rock falls, Under four inconspicuous bridges), Deliver my spirit to its water's plunge into the lake. I descend, as if materializing out of sheer imagination, Into the shimmeringly exquisite Japanese Garden.
That I've reached this source of the life-force itself, The origin of harmony, peace, contentedness, Is evident by the sense of inner serenity That has slowed my worldly thoughts To the heartbeat of tranquillity, My blood to the rhythms of solemnity's whisper, Which seems to be enveloping my breathing, Beneath a bell jar of gentle, deep sighs That keep existence echoing with its hopes for eternity.
Now, as if floating in a mist of invisible synthesis, I stroll to my left — the only hand on a mystic's clock — Around the rim of the timeless lake, Past the lotus bed, surrender to its white purity, Despite its being flowerless, this late November; Past the gravel dry garden (karesansui) Containing a sea within its sinuously raked perimeter; Past the flat bridge, spanning swarming nishikigoi (Colorful, finned symbols of courage and strength);
Past the eight-sectioned zigzag bridge (yatsuhashi); Past the stupa (stone pagoda honoring Buddha, Its fire boxes signifying earth, wind, fire, water, sky); Past lanterns, basins, lake islands, a waterfall, To where the English Woodland Garden released me, Two hours earlier, which I enter again, Retracing hundreds of uneven steppingstones, Following the stream back to the person I never was Yet know, now, for his serenity.
11/22/09 - (2)
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