Nirvana - James Tate

[Larry Robinson]

Nirvana

At the retreat, Lee wasn't allowed
to speak or read for ten days, just
meditate. It was bliss at first
letting go of the chattering world.
The silence was like living inside
a rose. She felt strong and clean.
Up before dawn to contemplate, and
then the simple meal with others
she didn't know, but, now, with all this
love flowing through her she knew
she must love them too. They were all
part of the same Divine Being,
In a pond of red lotuses,
in a pond of blue lotuses,
in a pond of white lotuses,
is the utter purity of mindfulness
that is indifference, rightly
penetrated by wisdom. As the days
wore on she missed chocolate,
she missed coffee and cigarettes.
She missed the office and its
endless phone calls, she missed
her secretary and her delicious
gossip. Martinis! And her husband
who was chopping his way through
the rain forest in search of
a tiny, yellow frog. Meditation
was great, but ten days of it
would be enough to make one combust.
At lunch she looked around the room:
without speech, without emotion,
her fellow campers were like ghosts,
or maybe more like mental patients
dulled by too much medication and
electro-shock, sad and empty husks
of their former selves. The Teacher
sat by himself eating his bowl of rice.
Lee stood up and began to walk
down the long path to the parking lot.
She wasn't angy. She was excited
and started skipping and singing
at the sight of her getaway car.

	- James Tate