Those unable to grieve,
or to speak their love,
or to be grateful, those
who can't remember God
as the source of everything,
might be described as vacant wind,
or a cold anvil, or a group
of frightened old people.
Say the Name. Moisten your tongue
with praise, and be the spring ground,
waking. Let your mouth be given
its gold-yellow stamen like the wild roses's.
As you fill with wisdom,
and your heart with love,
there's no more thirst.
There's only an unselfed patience
waiting on the doorsill, a silence
which doesn't listen to advice
from people passing in the street.
Gazing at the face of our Buddha statue in morning service, at the beauty of the alter, I was reminded that ours is a mystical tradition in which we, as ordinary human beings put ourselves in relationship to Amida, the measureless. There's not a lot spoken about mysticism or devotion in Buddhism in the UK, or the US, and yet there is a thread of gold at the heart of Buddhism that is this. Satori or Kensho or Shinjin is an awakening to this deeper reality - that of the measureless love which is just behind the veil of our delusion.
Sanai was a Sufi Muslim in the 12th C. but his practice was very similar to that of Pureland Buddhists, for him reciting the name of Allah, for us reciting the name of Amida.
"Say the Name. Moisten your tongue with praise."