Chapter 2 2

16 They know the way, and seek you along the narrow alleys, but I wander outside in the night because I am ignorant. I was not educated enough to fear you in the dark, so I stepped on your doorstep without knowing it. The sages scolded me and told me to leave because I didn't come down the alley. I turned away suspiciously, but you held me tight, and their scolding increased day by day. 17 ... 18 No, it was not your strength that caused the bud to bloom. You shake the bud, you knock on it; but you are powerless to make it open. Your stroke stains it, you tear the petals and throw them into the dust.

But there was no brilliant color, and no rich fragrance. what!It is not for you to open a bud into a flower. Those that can bloom buds are easy to do. He glanced at it, and the life fluid quivered between the veins of the leaves. When he blew, the flowers spread their wings and fluttered in the wind. Color overflows like a heart's longing, and fragrance reveals a sweet secret. Those that can bloom buds are easy to do. 19 After the severe winter, there was only the last lotus left in the pond, which was carefully picked by the gardener Sudas and sold to the king in front of the palace gate.

At this time, a passerby he met said to him: "How much is the price of this last lotus? I want to buy it and present it to the Buddha." Sudas said: "If you will pay a gold coin, I will sell it to you." Pedestrians pay for flowers. Just at this time, the king came out, hoping to buy the lotus.Because he was going out to worship the Buddha, he thought: "It would be a wonderful thing to put this lotus flower that blooms in the cold winter at the Buddha's feet." When the gardener said he had accepted one gold coin, the king said he would give ten, but the passerby offered double.

The gardener was very greedy, and thought that since they had raised prices so much for the sake of the Buddha, they would definitely get more benefits from him.So he bowed and said, "I will not sell this lotus." Deep in the shade of a mango orchard on the outskirts, Sudas stood before the Buddha.The Buddha's lips were full of silent love, and his eyes radiated a peaceful light, like a clean autumn sky, hanging a bright light. Sudas gazed at his face, placed the lotus at his feet, and knocked his head to the dust on the ground. The Buddha asked with a pleasant smile, "My child, what is your wish?"

"Just want to touch your feet," Sudas yelled. 20 O night, let me be your poet, veiled night! There are those who have sat silent for so long in your shadow, and let me speak their hearts out. Take me on your wheelless chariot, sailing silently from world to world, you are the queen of the palace of time, you have a black beauty! Many doubting minds have lurked stealthily into your yards and roamed your unlit rooms seeking answers. From the hearts of many pierced by the arrows of happiness from the hands of the unknown burst forth joyous hymns that shook the foundations of darkness.

Those sleepless souls gaze into the starlight, wondering about the treasure they suddenly found. Let me be their poet, O night, sing of your unfathomable silence. twenty one Though the years scramble my way with their idle dust, I shall one day meet "Life" in me--the joy that hid within me. I have vaguely recognized it, and its flickering breath has hit my body, filling my thoughts with fragrance for a while. One day, outside me, I will meet the "joy" behind the screen of light.I shall stand in overflowing solitude where all things are seen by the Creator. ………twenty four

Inky night, your sleep dwells deep in my silent being. Wake up, pain of love, I don't know how to open the door, so I stand outside. Time is waiting, the stars are watching, the wind has died down, and the silence is so heavy in my heart. Wake up, love, wake up!Fill my empty cup and touch the still night with soft songs. 25 The morning birds are singing happily. When the day is not yet dawn, and the stern night still holds the sky with its cold, dark arms, where do the birds get the lyrics of the morning? Tell me, morning bird, how did the messenger from the east find the way to your dreams through the double night of sky and leaves?

When you yell "the sun rises and the night dies," the world doesn't believe you. O sleeper, wake up! Baring your brow, waiting for the blessing of the first sun, with blissful devotion, singing to the morning birds. 26 The beggar in me raised his thin hands to the starless sky, and with a hungry voice, cried out to the ears of the night. He is praying to the blind darkness, which lies like a fallen god in the lonely palace of hopeless heaven. Cries of desire echo in the depths of despair, and birds of mourning hover over empty nests. But when morning dropped anchor on the edge of the east, the beggar in me sprang up and cried out: "It's good that the deaf night rejected me—it's empty."

He exclaimed: "O life, oh time, you are so precious! But so precious is the joy of finally making me acquainted with you!" 27 On the bank of the Ganges, Sanadan was counting his rosary and praying. At this moment, a ragged Brahmin walked up to him and said, "Help me, I'm so poor!" "My bowl of alms is all my property," said Sanadan. "I have given away all that I have." "But Shiva, my master, entrusted me with a dream," said the Brahmin, "and advised me to come to you." Sanadan suddenly remembered that he had picked up a priceless gem among the pebbles on the river bank. He thought that someone might need it, so he buried it in the sand.

He told the Brahmins where he hid the gems, and the latter dug out the gems in amazement. The Brahmin sat on the ground, meditating alone, until the sun went down through the treetops and the shepherd boy drove his flock home. At this time, he stood up, walked slowly to Sanadan, and said, "Master, there is a kind of wealth that disdains all the wealth in the world. Give me even a little bit of that kind of wealth." So saying, he threw the precious gem into the water. 28 Time and time again I come to your door, hands up, begging for more, more. You give over and over again, sometimes lightly, sometimes generously.

I took some, and let some fall; some lay heavy in my hand; some I made playthings, and spoiled them whenever I got bored; till wrecks and stored gifts piled up, Covering you, unceasing expectations consume my soul. Take it, ah, take it—this is my cry now. Smash everything in this begging bowl: turn off the lamp of this stalking observer; take my hand and pick me out of your still-gathering pile of gifts, into your uncrowded naked Infinity. 29 You put me on the loser list. I know I can't win, but I can't do without the game. I will plunge headfirst into the pool, even if I sink to the bottom. I'm going to be in the game that's failing me. I'll bet my all, and when I lose the last penny, I'll bet myself, and I think, I'll win by losing completely. 30 You dress my soul in tatters and send her to beg in the streets, while the sky laughs. She begged from door to door, and several times, when her bowl was almost full, she was robbed. At the end of a weary day, she comes to the door of your palace with a poor begging bowl in her hand, and you go up to her, take her by the hand, and let her sit on the throne beside you.