To a Fellow Cultivator of the Way: A Bud of Spring

To a Fellow Cultivator of the Way: A Bud of Spring
Evan Mantyk
5/18/2014
Updated:
4/23/2016

 

I look upon a bud of spring and dwell
“Is your journey through depths of suffering
Through the vicissitudes of wintry hell
Worth your tiny not quite green offering?”

“You are but a penitent, lone and meek
Confined for your short life you'll always be
To this rigid branch, not that high, quite weak,
To be alive but never to be free.”

The tiny bud, more alive than I thought,
Shakes its bulbous head in the gentle breeze
And, in language that can’t be figured out
But can be felt and clearly known with ease,

To me speaks: “How shallow is your vision;
I’m not a single bud, I am a tree,
But not the single tree you imagine,
All maple trees together that is me;
 
Yet, if they are all dead, I still exist,
I am the perfect tree, the King of Trees;
How does a small seed grow and not desist,
How does it grow with such form and ease?

Because in my Realm, it’s already there,
A piece of my vast body eons old,
And yet my body is in fact right here,
If you can free your mind you will behold.”

On hearing this I feel myself expand,
My body like a translucent robe
Darkly wrinkled in a gripping hand
Released, it spreads upon our tiny globe.

Spreads beyond stars that lord over the night,
And wavelengths my eyes are accustomed to,
Beyond emotions of fright and delight,
Beyond what I always thought must be true.

There, in a sea of endless life and light,
Floating, I meet the tiny bud once more
I say, “Then it’s all real and you are right,
Remind me next time I am such a boor!" 

 

 

Evan Mantyk is an English teacher in New York and President of the Society of Classical Poets.
Related Topics