How inconstant are compounded things!
Their nature: to arise & pass away.
They disband  as they are arising.
Their total stilling is bliss.

~ Parinibbana Sutta

The wind tossed the leaves, pale undersides trembled like the breast of a pigeon. The robe he had unfurled on the cool grass breathed gently as the Blessed One lay quiet under the arching sal tree.

River Hiranyavati flowed silently, not a rustle rising as she crested rocks and stones. He sat at the foot of the Tathagata, watching the skin above the lips moisten with the heat of May morning.

It was well past the time he engaged to sew robes for monks. He craved to go back to the routine of the day – to stir the pot of rice gruel, remove sharp pebbles from the pathway. Meanwhile life hung like cloth on a peg – waiting, surrendering to the breeze.

He blinked at the sudden clarity of light in the air around. His hands that were flicking away flies with a palm fan, froze. The ochre leaves fell gently like gold coins on the Buddha. He imagined that the earth held its breath.

He carried the words of the Great One as one carries a jar of ghee, mindfully. Deep as an old well, dry and empty, he gathered thirstily the rain that fell from the iridescent sky.

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