GOLDEN TORTOISE, THE

In the Pagoda

97 Again I visit the Thien Mu Pagoda, home of the Celestial Lady, training school of both the priest who died and the one who lives for peace. I lead my veterans in a prayer and healing circle under a wood-beamed roof occupied by a large statue of Buddha. I know that Buddha is compassionate, but seek to understand how he can be portrayed as fat and happy when there is so much sorrow. In the Pagoda “Please, Golden Buddha, tell me how you smile and laugh while your children fry?” “My children at play greet you. Warblers in my Bo tree sing.” Hue is voluptuous, vibrant, hot, sweet, passionate, refined. Hue blossoms and inspires. Though we drenched it in bombs, its beauty is eternally fertile. Hue Symphony I sit behind a hedge of purple morning glories blaring their trumpet faces to the river. Below me pink lotuses, whose chorus first sounded with the budding orange ball of eastern sun, are closed and resting now. Their long stems hold high their thick closed buds like horn masters standing at random proud attention. From the arbor above, lavender orchids tumble on vines and chains longer than I am tall. Their links of soft petals float on a breeze only they feel that does not cut the steady beat of blazing heat wrapping tall palms in silent measures of devoted passion. Between the flowering vines black bees longer and thicker than fingers plucking a moon-zither ...