This tree has been blogged before. It’s on the neighbor’s property and juts out over the water photogenically when seen from the dock.
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]
Day: January 25, 2020
Caveat: each time a different way
My loyal blog reader (and once-upon-a-time college roommate in Saint Paul in the 1980s) David Dickerson writes songs sometimes. He forwarded this one to me, and granted me permission to publish the lyrics as one of my “not my poetry” poems. I like the idea that sometimes the poetry published on my blog is by people other than me, but whom I actually know.
Roadside Buddha Traveller, where are you going? May I help you find your way? Cause you have so many questions Written on your face I'm a roadside Buddha and might know the way Yes, I've been there many times But each time a different way So you'll have to ask again At the start of every day I'm a roadside Buddha in a world of change I regret I can't go with you If you look back, you'll see I'm stone (a weathered stone Buddha) I just wake the wisdom in you You must go your path alone I'm a roadside Buddha and here I'm home Carry me in your heart (In your heart, in your heart) Help others find their way (Help us shed the darkness) Give them sustenence and love (Give us love, give us love) You'll grow richer every day (Sharing makes us richer) Be a roadside Buddha who colors the gray And if you look into the future You'll see that I'm ahead Waiting by the roadside To lend a hand again (To lend a hand) I'm a roadside Buddha going your way
Above is a picture of a “roadside Buddha” whom I saw often in Korea. It’s along the trail at the Yeongcheon Temple (영천사) on the western flank of Gobong Mountain (고봉사), which I used to visit when living in Ilsan, Korea – it was the closest “traditional” Jogye Temple to where I lived (there were closer temples, but those were modern, urban temples, like the one behind the Cancer Center). It was about a 3 km walk. There was a very kind monk there with whom I sometimes spoke in my bad Korean. I believe one time I took my mother there and she met him, too.
Caveat: Poem #1273 “Things that ghosts do”
ghosts emerge from night taste the damp soil, dance on stones, make dark suggestions