Rugged Interdependency - Amaravati Buddhist Monastery

Golden Highways Revisited: 1998Seemed long since fallen away. In the rock’s shadeOr under a liquid blaze of stars he madeAn art of stilling the breath, distilling the thinMountain air to a radiant essence withinThe gaunt, scarred body, mind poised like a hawkRiding clear airs of thought, hearing gods talkSometimes, or merging with silence.(I ii)•The deep-eyed sages sayThat fear of death is what drives men awayIn solitude to seek the deathless. Well—Why mention death? Let it be death to tellThe Prince of death, or sickness, or old age,Things that infect the gifted mind with rageTo escape what’s natural. Let him live in bliss;Let him have palaces that outshine thisAs a pearl does a pebble! Wrap him roundWith music, beauty, gardens! Let no soundCome there but laughter, nightingales, the flute—Let young and lovely voices drown the bruteMutter of suffering from the world beyond.Later he’ll listen. First, let him grow fondOf living in the heaven of great kingsWhile still a boy. Will he renounce such things?Never.Suddodana breathes more easily. PlansFor halls, lakes, gardens, multiply. He scansThe pastel fields of vision: world within world,Small realms of lovely detail are unfurled,Jewels inside jewels. Plunged in their radiant deeps,Dreaming of beautiful prisons, the King sleeps.(II iii)The poet envisions that, when complete, the work will be made up of eight setsof four books; he is now on Book Three (only 29 and a bit to go…). As things fellout, the last line “dreaming of beautiful prisons, the King sleeps,” was sounded onthe stroke of midnight, so we closed the proceedings there and decided to reassemblefor morning chores at 6:30 a.m. on Sunday.64