Precious laughter
Yesterday, just outside the strange little laundry, I'd stumbled across a small figurine of the Laughing Buddha, made of the same kind of ceramic as the Indian elephant Cat gave me for luck. He was lying on his back on the cold concrete, still crosslegged, his robe defying gravity and clinging to his knees, his face looking up at me and laughing. So I picked him up and placed him safely under a tree, so that he wouldn't get stepped on, or trip anyone over.
Having met at the appointed street corner, we walked onwards and upwards, slicing through sharp sun and dappled shadows, weaving threads which form friendship, drawing parallels and differences, watching caterpillars crawl in circles.
The sun rises much later now, and these days, I wake before the shadow of the streetlamp outside my window swings from the left to the right, where it stretches long and curved, as if reaching across the wall for the window below. Unexplained lethargy clouded any mental clarity I might otherwise have had today, but I finally dragged my sorry self out for a walk ...
The beauty of the world which thrives in hives where lives can be lived in freedom is no compensation for the pain. Ivied walls, stretching staircases, ornamented doors, laughter over a bottle of beer, two squirrels chasing each other round a tree. Yet being able to acquire joy at such scenes and such simplicity is what we have to fight for.
On the way back, I passed the strange little laundry. The Laughing Buddha was no longer there.
Posted by sniffles at October 14, 2002 11:40 PM