The Bodhi Tree, The Ganges,
Shantum and the Sangha.
These things are now a part of my life
And I feel a richness beyond belief.
It is almost too much to have to be
In the moment. But I will manage.
Thanks to everybody.
-Michael Trim, January 2011
Rainbow coloured saris
Moving through green fields
Breathing in I smile
Feeling the clours
Hearing the sounds
I smell chai
I step unsure of my destination
But happily moving
Flowing like the river
Growing like a tree
We share the same breath
Knowing that I am free
Breathing in I smile
- Sasha, February 2010
Abiding in silence
Absorbing the moods of the sacred sites
Our sangha grows in understanding and
Aspires to thoughts ephemeral, slipping away.
Villages old as time
New as the youngest child
Dust, color, sound, trash, smiles,
Combine and blossom into
The flowers of the Dharma
Abundant gratitude to our teacher and our fellow pilgrims
-Priscilla Fox, February 2009
I came to India
And had a lesson on impermanence
Whilst visiting the ruins of the great centre
Of learning at Nalanda
I came to India
And had a lesson in attachment
When my view on how Vulture Peak should look
Was challenged by reality
I came to India
And had a lesson on suffering
When I witnessed the flinching of a pack-horse
When sand was loaded onto his back
I came to India
And had a lesson in inter-being
When I discovered the cloud in my bowl of rice
Whilst eating mindfully
I came to India
And had a lesson in loving-kindness
From my patient and encouraging
I leave India
Full of gratitude to Shantum and to India
For showing me what it was
To walk in Buddha’s footsteps
-Jane Spry, February 2009
The gentle sway of the leaves
In the morning breeze
The unseen moves the seen
The metaphor of the road
The faded white broken line
Down the middle
As only a guideline
Swaying is flexibility
That’s how things endure
-Genevieve Velasquez, February 2009
In the footsteps
Of the Buddha
Modern day pilgrims
From western lands
Explore a slice
In the Bamboo Grove
Or atop Vulture PeaK
Gaze at the horizon
As the sun
Exploding in color
Descends as evening arises
To chant and pray
Thoughts drop away
The glorious experience
- Linda Cantor, February 2009
No Buddha, no pilgrims, no trip to begin
No beggars, no sickness, no words of Fa-Hsein
The lotus is empty, the ox has no cart
But tales of India have colored my heart.
-Angie Parrish, January 2009
Vibrant orange, saffron, fuchsia
bending in a field of stunning green.
Bright white smiles and flashing brown eyes.
Earth mud walls topped by pale straw shafts in the grey dawn.
The Buddha sleeping peacefully among his red and gold robes.
Orange, saffron, fuchsia
mud, straw, grey
red and gold.
Such are the colors of the palette of India.
The eyes flutter open and Sleeping Buddha pushes himself to a sitting position.
"Let us continue our journey," he says, as I prepare to leave.
- Valerie Nelson, February 2007
Twenty-five centuries of tradition
In twenty days of travel
Yet I am not weary.
At the sound of the bell
I follow my breath back home.
-Rick Rankin, February 2007
We breathe with the Buddha
We walk the path of former pilgrims
We smile to our teachers, family and friends
and are inspired by the Muslim soldier chanting with
devotion to Shiva in the hallowed
Saptparni cave near the sacred
The bullock cart passes, birds call
Children wave, smoke rises, mists clear
--the path is true.
- Shantum Seth, February 2007
Sravasti Jetta Grove India
there are no words….
Such great honour to walk in your footsteps, Beloved Lord Buddha.
We both saw the emerald blue kingfisher, the elegant cranes, the flowers, fresh with dew.
Spring is in the air again
I renew my vows and will continue to walk your path.
Deep gratitude to my teacher
Thich Nhat Hanh, who
supports me and gives
me the tools to do so.
I bow deeply here, and
touch the earth that
once you touched.
-Maigriet Versteeg, February 2007
No special insight today
If I die the day after
this trip is over, I’ll
-Sandy, November 2005
My name is Buddha
I sat under a tree
If you think kind thoughts
You can be me.
My name is big Sid
I drive a Harley
And you will be free.
-Jim Futransky, November 2005
Marigold candles flicker on the Ganges,
carrying aspirations and regrets,
While widows’ nests of light
guide their husbands’ souls to heaven.
Swept up in the dust and grime,
unsettled flakes of gold
flutter through a shaft of light
illuminating the Buddha’s smile –
The same sun sets
as the wild geese fly north.
-Annie Harrison, November 2005
We come from all places
To witness new life
So beautiful and simple
With hardship and strife.
We gather together
So different but same
To form a true Sangha
With Buddha to blame.
His trials of Life
We witness and feel
His birth through his death
To our hearts feel so real.
This has all taken place
Many generations ago
With life moving on
Through its ebb and its flow.
The black to the white
The mix goes to gray
The unity of culture
Calls people to pray.
Hindu and Muslim
And Buddhist are here
This reverence and devotion
To all seems so dear.
It seems not to matter
What path they might take
They just keep it true
In the life that they make
The life is so real
Yet complex and true
You look at a child
And a smile penetrates through.
The beauty shines bright
In every which way
From the piles of dung
To the piles of hay.
This everyday life
So busy and full
The touch of the beggar
The charge of the bull.
They strive to be happy
None look to be sad
It’s for the breath of life
That they seem forever glad.
The huts made of thatch
Some bricks form the wall
The stupa lies empty
But ever so tall.
The Buddha is gone
And generations have wept
But he does still live on
And his teachings are kept.
We are all grateful
To learn and to share
The family of the Sangha
Towards each we all care.
So as we depart
To go our own way
With hopes to reunite
Some other precious day.
With thanks to our teacher
Our mentor and guide
In our minds and in our hearts
He will ever abide.
-Bob Spina, November 2005
Breathe On This!
Breathing in I hear Bob speak the
Dharma and I know it’s the way
Breathing out I hear Nena say
It’s enough, okay?
Breathing in my heart pounds in view
Of sights without match
Breathing out I can’t stop staring
At the desperate dog scratch
Breathing in I am stunned by the
Sun’s rising on Vulture Peak’s top
Breathing out as I wait on the bus
For Nena to shop
Breathing in as we arrive at the
Gleaming five-star hotel
Breathing out as we leave the cold room
To draw water from a well
-Allan Hunt Badiner, December 2002/ January 2003
Buddha land serene,
Long lost, mindful rover,
Stones, gates, pilgrims, beggars,
Himalayan devotees, fervor undying,
Light the world forever with released imagination
No duality, death and life,
Buddha lives, everywhere
Love surrounds, compassion omni-competence!
Miracles! Minute by minute!
Inconceivable impatience! Determination! Joy!
Live transmission flowering Ganges
Evaporated, gone subterranean,
Risen flown with clouds,
Crystallizes, waits on mountain peaks,
Fires of feral greed,
Glaciers melt cascades.
-Bob Thurman, December 2002/ January 2003
And then another jewel,
Walking a grass path through a small village,
Oxen tethered to a door. One dog looks and barks,
Hay stacked, houses with thatch, a woman stands, children stare expectantly,
Then through mustard flower fields to
A large tree sitting quietly.
This is a priceless jewel.
-Mark Rice, December 2002/ January 2003
The Romance Is Over
I have thought of her often
Through the years
Since I was young
Her mystical nature
And beckoned to me
And over the years I heard rumours of her
And dreamt of the day
When I would meet her myself
And I came
Carrying my idealistic
And romantic visions
As I sit in her lap
I realise that the rumours were lies
To describe what cannot be described
By language alone
She shows me things
I was not prepared to see
I have fought to keep a lid on
Shares things I struggle to comprehend
And gives lessons reserved for graduate students
The romance is over.
And now I can discover her true beauty
Which lies beyond
My superficial fantasies
And is far greater than anything
I could have imagined
-Jaia, December 2002/ January 2003
Journeying through the East Gate
Lord Buddha seals my fate
Precious moment. Wonderful moments
Alas the suffering ends.
-Millie Foye, Loving Presence of the Source, November 2002
Unlike a Thai tourist,
Buddha’s gold rubs off on me…
Transforming strangers in to
A patient teacher clearing
Sunrise meditation opening
Stepping gently on the
The journey’s alchemy
Dignity of ordinary
Into golden truths
That touched my heart.
-Jon Lea Fimbers-Hetzel, Joyful Presence of the Source, November 2002
After so many years of chanting
“O Sariputra! Form is no other than Emptiness,
Emptiness no other than Form…”
I know something about Sariputra
The one-winged Sarus crane
Avidly accepts his keeper’s food
But doesn’t like the khadi cloth,
Thrown on his head,
Being shown off for the crowd.
Sitting under the Bodhi tree
I know I could keep going deeper,
Now how to nurture
The spark that remains?
-Bill Greenberg, February 2002
The full moon is rising and
The pilgrims – long adrift and searching –
Find themselves cast up at last by
Providential seas upon a welcoming shore
Where sweet sandy earth, underfoot
Inspires the opening heart
To gladness passing words.
And cries go up where dances move
To the drumbeat heart in orbits
Round the hot and crackling fire
And smoke and cinders rise to
The all-receiving silence of the sky.
-Gene Kirkham, February 2002
Old dusty lands
Grey and tattered
Red bride and wrinkled
Maroon and old
Buddha is a
Long jostling road
Our of this burning house of worldly existence
-Joan Halifax Roshi, January 2001
You there in the woods,
Thank you, brother.
I have been standing
In the shade
Of your many trees:
The sita ashoks of your birth,
The bo tree of your awakening,
Deer Park of your wheel
The twin sals of your death,
Jeta’s Grove, and Bamboo Grove.
Why am I here?
To honour you.
It took you a hundred
thousand eons, plus four
incalculable, working hard,
to become the teacher
that you were.
Thank you for your effort.
Why else am I here?
O let you know, brother,
That I’ve put my queer
Shoulder to the wheel.
I a pilgrim, white haired
And resolute, with fresh shit
On my socks and slippers,
Am learning to kiss
The leper’s wounds
With unconditional regard,
Though I won’t buy
His postcards or his film.
When I was Anguli Malla
Ahimsa, you taught me once –
Remember? – how the ocean
Of suffering is immense,
And how, if I only turn
Around, I’ll see
The other shore.
And I see it now – just there!
For as long as it takes –
Eons, incalculable –
I too will work to build
A vessel big enough
To cross the ocean
Of sorrow and bring
All beings home.
-Eric Kolvig, January 2001
I wept under the Bodhi Tree
I did not understand the beginning
Until we reached the end.
Everyday is a pilgrimage
Navigating tempestuous seas of
Battling inner demons
Trying to get clear –
In the present moment.
So many peoples
So many people
We are not along.
But in this together.
Here I grapsed
The interconnection of all being
The living soul
The compassionate heart
Of the world.
-Stuart Abelson, January 2001
On Intimations of Morality at Gridhhakuta
This surely is not the Vulture’s Peak;
But an eyrie where one can seek
The eagle’s cry to take care
And live each moment, truly aware
Of the looming presence of the vulture’s beak.
- Ashok Desai, December 1999
We come as doubters on the trip.
Me a Jain, Harsh a Hindu.
Doubts about Buddhism,
Doubts about U.P,
Doubts about Bihar,
Doubts about spending the millennium in a vihar
We went to Sravasti, Lumbini,
Kushinagar, Sarnath, Bodhgaya, and Rajgir
We saw some,
We heard some,
We meditated some,
It got better and better along the way,
We leave as believers.
Thank you Shantum.
Thank you Gitanjali.
- Kamini, December 1999
We have walked in sacred places
Where trees stood wise and tall.
And learnt as we sat in vast spaces
Of the great teacher’s compassion which flows to us all.
We climbed to reach those rocks of ages
Vibrant in splendour so sharp, so stark.
As our teacher spoke of great sages
I asked, “is there some light where it was dark?”
The light is there in us, all teachings do say.
Now following our teacher, warmed by sangha’s affection
The cold mists of wintery day start wondering away.
New thoughts that come say, “it is time for a new reflection”.
-Sita Nanda, December 1999
When Shantum was a child
He followed in my footsteps.
Now I am following his footsteps
On the Path of the Buddha.
On this journey I am learning
To breathe deeply, to act mindfully
To smile and to be aware
To experience the freshness of a flower
The beauty and clarity of a stream
And to be free as a bird.
To feel the mother’s love at Lumbini
The childhood of Siddharth at Kapilavastu
The serenity of the morning meditation at Sravasti
And the teaching under the neem tree at Sarnath.
To enjoy the candlelight parikrama
On the last millennium night in Bodhgaya.
Under the Bodhi tree where Buddha gained enlightenment.
To be conscious of the beauty of the sunset at Vulture’s Peak
And the tradition of learning at Nalanda – the lotus given.
To appreciate life and its impermanence in Kushinagar
In the place of the Buddha’s mahaparinirvana.
For the joyous journey I want to thank you
Shantum and Gitanjali and all my fellow pilgrims
For the harmony and grace, for better understanding
And PEACE that has been brought to me
By all of you.
-Leila Seth, December 1999
The Struck of Strucks!!
(this should be sung)
And the last word is to be guessed by the sangha.
In Sravasti, we admired the Sri Lankan chitra
We were all held captive by ………. (Sanghamitra)
At Lumbini, the birth of Buddha we did view
Steaming baths, Christmas carols, Mayadevi’s fading……. (status)
Going on to Kushinagar, still following our breath,
What struck us most there was the meditation on………. (death)
In Varanasi, the Ganga at sunrise was rare.
Rimpoche contrasted with the monk who had his nose in the………. (air)
Bodhgaya – the lotus surrounded by lights
Fog came to clear the fog of our minds at………… (midnight)
Venuvan, Nalanda, the heart sutta,
We watched the new sunset at………… (Griddhakutta)
Smiling and sharing and reaching real depths
I’ll remember this sangha – “In Buddha’s………… (Footsteps)”
-Gitanjali Varma, December 1999
In spring Bodhi light
Leaves and prayer flags ripple wind:
Soft mantras of peace.
-Charles Ham, February 1999
Breath after breath
Step after step
In silence and song
We walked along
-Linda Ballantine, February 1999
I came to India on a quest
Booked a ride with Shantum Seth
We drove around
Ourselves we found
As we walked in the Buddha’s Footsteps.
-Marty Evans, February 1999
Women, graceful, cross the fields.
Am eternal rainbow
Calls my heart home
To the great mystery of life and death.
-Vicki Pollard, February 1999
A billion people.
A million sight.
A thousand sounds.
One hundred monks chanting prayers
Ten serene and sacred places.
One simple Master’s hut.
Which is the greater number?
- Richard Ranklin, December 1997/ January 1998
I came to India seeking my heart,
That Dharma name Thay did to me impart.
Mindful moments I found, unmindful ones too,
Breathing in, breathing out, really brings skies of blue,
I found so much to do and so much to see,
From Theresa’s “pure heart” to Buddha’s old tree,
I found all the extremes from the high to the low,
My emotions, my suffering – I’ve sure come to know.
But the people I found meant the most, you see;
For I found in each face a reflection of me.
And so in the moment, to home I must start,
But now inter-being, finding India in my heart.
-Bob Balderson, December 1997/ January 1998
Spring smiles on India
Dusty path dressed with blossoms
Breathing in the smells
Breathing out with bells.
Stopping thoughts on the spot
Where the Buddha once walks
And now in Thay’s footsteps
A smile rises from my depths
O’ the bliss to travel mindfully
In the sweet company of monks and nuns
To keep arriving without end
Never running, always a smile to send.
-Allan Hunt Badiner, December 1997/ January 1998
Arising and Falling Away
In and out
Arrival and Departure
England and U.S.
Hong Kong and Italy
Gandhi’s Death and Life
Delhi Waiting and Boarding
Ganga and Himalayas
Bamboo grove and Vulture Peak
Marigolds and Hot springs
University and Museum
Bodhi tree and Vajra Asana
Tibetan chanting and Rustle of leaves
Mahant’s farm and Monastery
Mustard and Rye
Care and No care
Christopher and Dalai Lama
Preeti and Well
Lifting and Placing
Ganga Sunset and Sunrise
Fire and Water
Dhammekh and Dharmarajika
Lion capital and Teaching Buddha
Neem and Mango
Bikhuni Kusuma and Samdhong Rinpoche
Shiva and Buddha
Deep and Slow
Holyman and Rogue monk
Cremation and Burial
Jaggery and Sugar cubes
Black face and Red horn monkeys
Jasmine and Cowdung
Banana and Orange
Bangles and Bindis
Silk shirts and Khadi gamcha
Sugarcane and Lentils
Thais and Burmese
Sri Lankans and Japanese
India and Nepal
Love and Aversion
Coming and Going
Sita Ashok and Saal
Owl and Kingfisher
Ashoka and Constantine
The Other Group and Us
Kitch and Art
English and British
Spring and Winter
Panna and Manoj
Calm and Ease
Shed and Temple
Palace and Monastery
Relics and Rice
Bumpy and Smooth
Smile and Release
Jeta Grove and Anathapindika park
Stupa and Stupa
Cutlet and Eggs Meat and Veg
Stories and Struck
Birthday: Father and Son
Hindu and Muslim
Jain and Buddhist
Theravada and Mahayana
Aloo and Gobi
Gobi and Aloo
Bell and Conch
Hat and Turban
Pilgrimage and Sangha
This is because that is
That is because this is
Present moment wonderful moment.
-Shantum Seth, January 1999
Six of us thrown together
Traveling, seeing, teaching, listing
Learning, loving, growing, experiencing
One perfectly balanced group
Each person dependant on and separate from
And affected by each other
Bright coloured saris
Green fields, blue sky
Smooth dark-skinned babies
With black under eyes
Sun sets and fires glow
A blanket of smoke covers
The sky for night.
-Amy Dolce, December 1997/ January 1998
I see eyes everywhere –
We arrive in Delhi and I am
Overwhelmed by the stares.
Shantum says, “Look into
Their eyes and you will know”.
So I look more deeply.
The curious eyes
The eyes that light up with
A smile with “Namaste”
The eyes of compassion
The ageless eyes
The laughing eyes
The sad eyes
The tired eyes
The eyes that show the depth
Of the soul.
The eyes that harden to
Keep me out.
And in all the eyes I
See my own reflected.
-Ruby Grad, December 1997/ January 1998
With Shantum in India
From Buddha’s birth to Buddha’s death,
We wondered round with Shantum Seth
In fields and temples, peace was there,
Then chaos in the market square,
A land of contrasts, joy, despair,
Of faith and beauty,
All is there, in India.
Morning mist in Lumbini
The snow capped peaks
Of the Himal are there,
As we sit near the
In the woods at
Lumbini, hyenas call
And the crane wades in
And in the porch of the
Temple a bees’ nest hangs.
Buddha’s mother walked
Here once – did the hyenas
Call then and the crane stand
-Aileen Dempsay, December 1997/ January 1998
In the footsteps of the Buddha
I have felt India with my feet
With my tongue I have tasted India
With my nose I have absorbed the smells of India
With my ears I have heard the sounds of India
And with my eyes I have seen the colours of India
-Caroline Bluck, February 1996
My Buddhist pilgrimage
Has been like a Haaj to Mecca.
I can go home and die.
Now I realise that is wrong.
I can go home and live until
- Robert Arnold, February 2011
Our teacher showing us
The Buddhist path
In ways multidimensional
In eleven directions
With your mindful kindness
- Anne Arnold, February 2011
The universal in me
Thought conceives a form
A vacuum fluctuation
A mind manifests
- Werner Doyle, January 2010
In the steps of the Buddha.
A part of sanghas everywhere.
How grateful I am of the many arms reaching out to me!
I belong to you and you
Belong to me!
- Ruth Eppsteiner, January 2009
Leave the statues behind –
Walk with me beside a quiet lake.
Leave the temples behind –
Sit with me beside the Bodhi Tree
Listen with me and
Hear the Dharma
Just the Dharma
-Carole Burke, January 2009
Oh India, every time I return to you, you break open my heart.
Oh Buddha, every time I return to you, you fill my heart
And leave me grateful.
-Fred Eppsteiner, January 2009
People, people, people,
And more people.
I am India.
I am a repository of ancient humanity.
I am deeply connected to the earth,
Even in the humblest marketplace, my fruits and vegetables
I am a celebration of brilliant color.
I am enthusiastic, open-hearted children.
I am way too poor but overflowing with human sprit.
I live life right out in the open.
I gave birth to the Buddha and Gandhi -
who can top that?
-Kate Bourne, January 2008
1. American Haiku
We used twenty-one
cameras to take one pic-
ture in Bodghaya.
-Molaan Mosell, January 2008
There once was a Great One called the Budd Ha
Who Went some time without much Food -Ha!
In Sarnath He Spoke
A Sermon to many a Folk
Which put everyone in a much better mood-Ha!
There is a Buddha Scholar Named Stephen
Whose Students wanted to know what He's seen
He lectured In Caves
which were some of my faves
about a middle path to keep one quite Even
-Kevin O'Brien, January 2008
Sitting in the breeze from the field,
Ashoka stupa is the start of our travel.
Carrying a cushion, we sit anywhere, as we like,
Our thirty is a travelling Sangha
-Tsutomu Kambe, January 2008
I have been to India
I have been to India
and walked in the footsteps of
I have been to India
the land of Mahatma Gandhi
walked where he walked
saw the power of a simple life
built on morality
and taught to others.
I have been to India
and rode in a caravan of rickshaws
through streets exploding with color
with sounds and smells of life being lived
riding to the fabled Ganges
the mythic river
giving life to many while
washing bodies and clothing
receiving ashes and small children to rest
not refusing my flower offering
and all the while
constantly moving silently.
I have been to India
land of shrines and ruins
telling of an ancient time
a time of learning, teaching
and holy reverence
I have been to India
dominated for hundreds of years
free for sixty
with promise of a fresh start
I have been to India
where neglect and poverty
are beyond any words to describe
I have been to India
history, depth and
in the eyes of the children
gentle, soft loveliness of the women
and the men?
I see them teetering on the brink
taking hold of who they are
beyond what is
to what they can be.
I have been to India
-Carole Wong Chesek, January 2008
Snuggled in our mountain lodge
Every day, a gift of impermanence
Flashes of lightning, twinkling Tibetan eyes.
The heart opens, and then we vanish.
-Chris Germer, March 2007
- Leslie Young Giase, March 2007
With my dear Sangha family, dressed in white (most of the time), I dove into Incredible India, teeming with life. With sense doors open, having seen and known the precious home of the dear Lord Buddha and graced by the people, the land, and the traditions, my way has been confirmed. I depart this pilgrimage richer and wiser with a wish in my heart for greater peace for all beings.
-Fran Oropeza, February 2007
India, mother of the Buddha,
Lays us bare
With her love and her pain
We learn to care.
-Chris Germer, February 2007
(Please forgive the typist; Some of the Pali letters are not properly conveyed because at least the diacritical signs are not available.)
paccanam kosalani ca
sabbe pabbajjika saha
pubbe tunni bhavam satim
The Magadhans of the Eastern land,
And the Kosalans from the West,
All wander about together
In the footsteps of the Buddha.
Silent, mindful, in the morning
Adventure in the afternoon,
Coming to know the Middle Way
- In the footsteps of the Shantum.
-Andrew Olendzki, February 2007
Only one person awakened alone, the Buddha. The rest of us need help from each other. I thank each of you for helping me find a new meaning for Sangha.
-Diane Moongrove, February 2007
We sat at his house outside of Delhi. I was still in shock from the contrast. He said, “You will become one organism”. I looked at these strangers puzzled. Today in Sravasti there is no “I”. “I” have been taken by this organism, by India... overwhelmed with gratitude.
-Ellen O’Sullivan, February 2007
You and God
My True Home
-Valerie Bell, February 2007
A trip starting with a pinch of sugar for good luck.
I stare out the window and watch scenes that end before I realize what it is I've seen.
It's a head on collision with humanity
A kaleidoscope - click, click
Perception, illusion, gratitude, wisdom, awe
Traveling lightly unpacking prejudices and judgments
chai, ginger lemon honey hot water ma'am?
horses with ribbons and bells--pulling carts
Asi Foot Buddha
Reading under the Bodhi Tree
mustard, lentils, flax, sugar cane, rice, amaranth
patties-samosas, momos and poopoo
lunch from leaf plates in Bamboo Grove
beggars children and women - a moaning hum that stirs my heart - aching
cobras, elephants and tiger heads, camels
classical music, Jetta Grove
Mahindra, Hercules, chai, dark betelnut, wallah, tuk tuk, tata, jelabis, bindis, kheer, halwa, Hero, Naga paneer, dhaniyavad, Namaste.
-Gail Cyrkiel, February 2007
Listening to you
teach has me reaching
to see I need not do
but just be.
- Liz Gavin, February 2007
-Christine Line, February 2007
I had taken refuge in the Buddha
I had taken refuge in the Dharma
And now I've taken refuge in a Sangha
I learned to walk on this sacred ground
And closed my eyes where One had woken us
In the presence of Great Suffering I found hope
Every pilgrim has been my teacher
And Mother India offered up her fertile ground
What fruits will these seeds I've planted here produce
After I am transferred to my Native Soil?
-Erika Long, February 2007
Walking Buddha Path
Reluctance fades to yes yes
Frog jumps in Big Mind
-Perry Garfinkel, February 2004
Like a Shepherd
He leads his flock
And gathers his lambs in his arms
Holding them carefully
Close to his heart
Leading them home.
-Mimi White, Nurturer of the Source, February 2004
Three Jewels teaches us a way
To sink deep, not drown.
- Mimi White, Nurturer of the Source, February 2004
Haiku on Footsteps…
Found Three Jewels and took them home
- Anne Bowdoin, February 2004
ALONG THE WAY
THE POND'S SKIN HOLDS
SHIMMERING TREES, SOARING BIRDS
DROPLETS OF RAIN
EVER EXPANDING CIRCLES
WE ARE WALKING
BUS TIRES GLISTEN
- Willa Schneberg, February 2004
For the sake of all beings I aspire to be happy and free
In his footsteps, finding the Buddha in a tree,
The breeze, a river.
Hanging out with Shantum
Teaches us how to be.
May the Dharma Wheel turn for ever.
-Barbara Hickling, January 2004
INDIAN ROLLER AT MANGO GROVE STUPA
Flashing colours of supple silk
Beating about sacred ground
Beyond earthy bricks
Buoyant, light, illuminated.
WALKING NORTH IN NEPAL
Eight feet on the path
Shifting clouds reveal the smoking mountain
Massive snowfields are delicate orange
And pink in the early sun
Something solid runs through us all.
-Jane Coatesworth, January 2004
Beside the Temple at Bodh Gaya
Sitting still within the sangha
Down dropped a gift into my hands
One glowing orange luminous flower
-Madeleine Thomas, January 2004
"And did you meet the Buddha on the way?"
I met the Buddha in rustling
Leaves and the flash of a wing
I met him in a monkey's snarl
And a dog's kind gaze
I saw him in groves of trees;
Under mean thatch; in beggars' eyes
I found I'd brought him with
Me in my heart.
-Gill Bleaden, January 2004
The flexibility is born from weakness
Solidity is rigidity transformed.
After the rain has cleared the clouds
The great mountains are plain to see.
-Murray Corke, January 2004
Thinking of something to write
Just as in sitting under the Bodhi Tree
-Derek Brocklebank, February 2003
The kite glides effortlessly
Over Vulture Peak
Supported by the currents
Of compassion and peace
Emanating from the Buddha’s heart
As we sit in meditation far below
Magenta hues fill the sunset sky
And a tangible hush envelopes all
The Blessed One’s Cave
Held in the womblike darkness
The mind relaxes and opens
Soft and grateful
That the Blessed One
Spent many agonizing days here
Aspiring for the greatest Truth
-Eloise Ross-Jones, February 2003
Let us see that there is no birth and death
So why complicate our life with stress
The world within and around is clear and free
So let us see that you are me
And I am you and that’s plain to see
The same is true for the birds and bees (and buffaloes and monkeys)
Come let us live in a world of love
So that there is no below and above
The laughter sings in the wind,
The flowers bloom and stars shine
And when the night falls all around
Let the candles burn on the stupa ground
The stupa comes alive like a fire in the starry night
The full moon will rise and show the way
Thank you dear friends/ Sangha
For walking the Buddha way
-Shantum Seth, February 2003
The Buddha’s footsteps are for me
The road to happy destiny
When I behold a suffering one
Compassion in my heart is born
-Bernadette McEwen, February 2003
Children, laughing eyes, pleading
Eyes, vacant eyes,
Reaching, open hands, clenching hands, prayerful hands,
As I fall deeply into the lap of
Suspends the ear
Silent steps, softened twilight
Sea of grasses beaming yellow
My heart blooms
-Gwen Faasen, December 2002/ January 2003
From Lumbini to Delhi
The experience passes away
Like a leaf boat on the Ganges
But what will remain
Is renewed commitment
To compassion and equanimity.
-Jeff Theis, January 2001
Deep in Jeta Grove,
An ancient well now runs dry,
Yet pilgrims still come.
-Weston Konishi, January 2001
To India I come
In search of the way
To let go of samsara
I do hope one day
We followed the Buddha
To his most holy sites
We travelled by bus
By day and by night
From Lumbini to Bodhgaya
We followed the path
We rode on the Ganges
Without taking a bath
Our hearts become truer
Our minds become clearer
We thank Eric’s meditations and talks
For bringing us nearer
Sid left me one night
Cause I told him don’t snore
But my Karma was right
And Tempa showed up at my door
We debated all day
But Tempa always proved right
I miss him a lot
I’m sure he could show us the light
I want to thanks Joan
For correcting my words
And teaching me that
There are no Buddhist birds
Joan says its love and compassion
You should send out to all
Develop patience and forgiveness
And you will stand tall
Our hearts are prayers to Reba
Who gave us a scare
Our minds should dwell on impermanence
As it is always there
To Jennifer and Garv
Who learned to hondel
I hope in the future
This will save you a bundle
To Shantum my friend
You’re gentle and kind
Your figure 8 head nod
Puzzles my mind
To all sentient beings
Wherever you may be
May your suffering cease
May you leave in equanimity
Joy and happiness to all
Keep the Buddha in mind
And just remember that
You must train that monkey mind
We sneezed and we coughed
All together a one
Now that our pilgrimage is over
I think it fun
I smiled and joked
For that is my way
You taught me the value of a Sangha
In my heart you will stay
- Barry Wagner, January 2001
This trip has been a perfect experience for me. I knew it would be interesting, and I had been looking forward to it for a long time, but I had idea
That the contact would be so deep. I’m amazed at the things I’ve seen and the amount that I’ve learned about India, Buddhism, and myself, in such a short period of time. It has surpassed all of my expectations and I’m really happy I came.
-Peggy, December 2000
Birds, Flowers, Incense
Not one word spoken
In the bamboo grove
I was smitten by some older Indian women
With saris the same shade of green
As the trees and grass
-Christian Crudo, December 2000
Ï am free”, I state with a voice
Which echoes of the journey I’ve begun.
Having rid myself of plastic smiles, the
Fear, and the burning tears – I am
Reminded that life is a fragile chain
Of experience held together by love.
I have seen the riches to be sought
In broken places…
As I breathe in I know that the human journey
Boils down to one thing,
As I breathe out I strive to make
My love a force in the world…
And to let its healing power being
- Brandy Christensen, December 2000
Going, going, going on
Guided by the footsteps of
Wherever I am is home.
-Randi Brox, December 2000
Walking the Footsteps
Watering the Seeds of Love
Lives Forever Changed
-Jerry Braza, December 2000
Meeting the Buddha
Mr. B and I first met in England
In France our acquaintance deepened
In the amazing universe that is India
The land where Gandhi taught and walked
Among the green fields, parks and forests
I found Mr. B the man.
And walked in his footsteps
Along paths, across rivers and sand
Relics, construction, destruction
Revival and reconstruction
Where his historic Sangha had gathered
Now I must exchange the hubbub of India
For the hubbub of England
So difference but so similar
There also the Buddha is always available
But it was Mother India
Who gave the historic Buddha birth
Deeply I bow as I say goodbye
With deep gratitude to India and her people.
-Meg Stacey, February 2000
Rural life in India floated gently by;
Walking to a cave where Gautam nearly died.
Gentle boys served us tea in bed
Beautiful stories through which we were peacefully lead.
We are all at one here in the park with monkeys, trees and pigs.
In the necklace of our lives.
-Nancy Snyder, February 2000
Your sweetness drew me to you
The gentleness of your brave men
Who ferry cabs and sell news print in a vast Western City
Whose kindness and humility were an unforgettably sweet thorn in a
Bottle of self-importance
…to have walked your planted Earth
And breathed your million-filled air with you…
Now I have seen its source.
-Hugh Gamble McCormack, February 2000
The cocoon encloses
A struggle ensues
Light peers though the cracks
The walls crumble
The butterfly soars
A Buddha is born
-Gitanjali Seth, February 2000
A young prince who saw beings needed saving
Had an ascetic way of behaving
Under a tree in Uruvela
This insightful young fella
Saw the cause of our suffering is craving.
-Ellis Tingstad, February 1999
Sitting Under the Bodhi Tree
Tibetan monks come in, take over
The whole space with their
Bowing, chanting. The microphone
Goes on, and they are the main
Sitting under the Bodhi Tree, I
Am haughty and proud Tibetan, here
To preserve and protect the
Dharma, to show the others
Sitting under the Bodhi Tree, I
Am the Hindu woman who bows,
Leaves fruit offerings and rubs
Her head on the Bodhi tree trunk ,
Pours water on it and catches
The water and drinks it.
Sitting under the Bodhi Tree, I
Am the Indian monk who gathers
Coins for the donation box, who cares
For the shrine, watching pilgrims do
Their thing. My robes are dusty pink,
Sitting under the Bodhi Tree, I am
Middle-aged aMerican, with cushion and
Mat, Velcro and pack, sitting
Sitting under the Bodhi Tree, I am
Korean Sangha, chanting sing-song Heart
Sutra, bowing and BOK.BOK.BOK
Sitting under the Bodhi Tree,
Leaves fall, dharmas bloom.
-Pat O’Hara, January 1999
The Ganges at dawn
Pilgrims singing from a boat
Charm river dolphins.
Bodhi tree morning:
Three sound-circle mandalas –
Trumpets, drums, cymbals.
Lumbini garden –
Wild waves of maroon-robed monks
Joining the tea queque.
Vulture Peak sunset:
Walking down in darkness, turn
To see the full moon.
Sarnath at evening:
Rinpoche’s dharma – travel
With an open heart.
-Robert Bluck, January 1999
I should like to be like an
Strong so I can carry a heavy bundle of kindling on my head
Gentle and loving as I massage
My baby’s limbs
Caring as I lead my buffaloes
Home at the end of the day
Patient while waiting for my
Best sari to dry
Wrapped in bright colours and proud to
Display my golden nose ornament
Full of devotion as I light the
Incense and place marigolds on
The household shrine
Part of the serenely eternal flow
Of life that pervades this
-Maargi Mazzanti, January 1999
Dung dries by the road
Red saris pierce green rice fields
While egrets fly past
In Buddha’s Footsteps
Marble cooled by winter nights
Chills our pilgrim feet
-Caroline Bluck, January 1999
How far away enlightenment is
To find the balance of facing in and
To be mindful through this lifetime
Would be enough.
-Vicki Seglin, January 1999
His steps lie far beneath our own
Humus has covered brick and stone
The sal tree’s flower, the peepal’s leaf
Turns back to soil, mixed with no-gried.
(no grief = ashok, the tree under which the Buddha was born)
-Vikram Seth, December 1993/ January 1994
Buddhist pilgrimage began
With total strangers ten.
Pilgrimage is ending –
With ten Dharma friend.
-Constance Sandham, February 1993
Colour, sound, tastes, scenes, faces,
Distract my mind from
Buddha’s sacred places.
Back home, when stories
Of his life are told
Deep memories o these footsteps will unfold.
-Jan Peterson, February 1996