This is the opening segment of Requisites, my book of poems. The book explores the eight requisites that the Buddha stipulated as the only essential possessions for his monastics. The book takes the reader on a journey, questioning whether the Buddha’s teachings may have a solution for humanity on the brink of self-destruction due to the current global ecological crisis. The answer is relevant to any person who believes that they can contribute to the wellbeing of this planet, that is our only home.
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Requisites
the river flows relentlessly - we are on its banks:
“Step in.” “Step in.”
now is the time for going upstream, against the
the words of the world, iron yokes binding us.
for spurning signboards.
5th Century BC: dawn tumbles on treetops, truth streams from a Buddha
snakes coil underfoot, there is and will always be rain, pouring
between seasons of thirst.
he told of his journey -
tracing this river swimming in circles
a hot coal clenched in the fist -
everything is burning.
wade through this river, braving eddies and swirls.
21st Century: what will be offered to the Baby Boomers
Gens X, Y, Z, A who step out?
along the way, there will be others who will join
from cities of the future
leaving the SUV, the double-door fridge, the pinstriped suite, the holiday in Majorca.
they who will tread upstream
sallied pavements on Friday nights
dressed in linen jackets or spaghetti strap cocktail dresses with six rounds
down, went for vindaloo after the last call
that was us. he wandered a land, searching; you and I will do the same
in city malls railway waiting rooms airport lounges.
what happens if we don’t spurn the river. that is not the question.
this is the question: is there a way to appease the sun
our backs stripped of covering, sans SPF60
as we hurtle pell-mell into flames.
that falconer of boundless hearts
travelled light – eight requisites strung on the body
an outer robe
an inner robe
a cloak for winter
a bowl for food
a razor
needle & thread
a water strainer
a belt
could we accept, we who need so much for everything, that
we are the sun we are the burning
we the burnt we the arsonists.
