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Poems by Stephen Lane …
No matter if I forget
this Name I carry in my heart.
To Amida I am
unforgettable!
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Even though I turn my back.
Even when I forget your Name.
After I’ve said a hundred times:
“I’ll do this myself” and fail.
You’re always there
And catch me as I fall.
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The Pure Land is
another world.
The Buddha’s Name is
a foreign tongue.
A stranger in my own life –-
when I find you
I’ll know I’m home.
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Talk to Buddha.
Amida is a great listener.
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I shape into a Buddha
that which has no form.
I label with “Amida”
that which has no name.
When will I realise I live within
a mystery I cannot contain?
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Question: If you have no form
how can I reach you?
Answer: Who is there to reach?
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No matter how many times I betray you,
your Vow remains the same.
No matter how strongly I deny you,
you still answer to your Name.
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One day I will understand you.
Then I will understand myself.
You and I are one indivisible Amida.
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Why do I worry about me
when there is only you?
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If only it were true.
If only you were real.
How different then my life would be.
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Teacher of my heart,
teach this heart to break.
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A tough
year over with!
Thanks, Buddha Amida.
Thanks for being there beside me
always.
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A language has thousands of words
yet, for all the wrong we do
there is only “sorry.”
For all the good others do us
there is only “thank you.”
In the language of the Heart
there is only the Name.
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Wherever you are
Buddha’s there with you.
Say the Name
and Amida’s at your side.
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When Buddha breathes in,
I breathe out. As I breathe in,
Buddha breathes out.
How close we are!
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The world is Buddha’s garden.
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All through my life
I let down, time after time,
those I love the most.
Need you more than ever now.
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Couldn’t get by without you
always at my side.
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Out of my hands,
and yet
out of my mouth –-
Namo Amida Buddha!
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Wherever you are,
you turn to the voice that calls your name.
So does Buddha.
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We all talk to ourselves.
Now talk to Buddha.
Amida will answer you
as surely as you do yourself.
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A baby is born without speech.
Born in Beijing it learns Chinese.
Born in Moscow it learns Russian.
Learn the language of the Heart,
as a child learns from its mother.
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Buddha does not move.
It is we who come and go.
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Like a lighthouse to a ship
on a foggy night,
Buddha leads us home
through the sound of the Name.
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I pray for ‘this’ and ‘that,’
for ‘me’ and ‘mine.’
Buddha’s prayer is best –-
‘may the whole world be happy.’
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How safe I feel
carried in your Heart –-
centre and circumference
of all I am, was and will ever be.
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“Don’t know what to do, Amida.
I don’t know what to do.”
Just say the Name and you’ll come through.
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In my wallet
I carry your picture.
In my heart
I carry your name.
So it is with Buddha.
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I don’t know who you are,
what you are or where you are.
Who am I really calling
when I say your Name?
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Pointless praying to you –-
you already know
my inner most thoughts.
But when I pray,
I’ll know them too.
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Just today, Amida, please!
Just get me through this day!
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So glad the world is round.
Running from you
I run into you –-
over and over again.
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Listen!
A bird sings.
Grass rustles.
A bough creaks in the wind.
All things say the Name.
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A child cries for its mother.
A river yearns for the sea.
I call out for Amida.
All things long for that
which completes and makes them whole.
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When people say “Buddha” –-
it’s a lie.
When people say “me” –-
it’s a lie.
In these lies are all our miseries.
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Without moving
the sun rises every day.
Without thinking
the seed puts down its root.
Without asking why
swifts gather to fly south.
Doing without doing,
knowing without knowing –-
this is living in Amida’s light.
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Today I called and called.
You never answered.
I lose you!
I get you!
I lose you!
I get you!
Slippery as an eel
is my Amida.
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Because
it's very hard
to keep all the precepts
you gave me just one to live by –-
your Name.
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What if
I just give up
reciting “Amida”?
In the silence, I know, I’ll hear
your Name.
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It’s my
family I
love, not you, mystical
Buddha. What use are you? And then,
you’re here.
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Can’t think
of one thing you’ve
done for me, Amida.
And yet, there’s the miracle of
your Name.
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In doubt,
clutching at straws,
I sit myself before
your statue. Your smile returns to
my face.
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