Someone is writing about the New Testament.
Someone tells it softly.
And I draw a snow-covered cherry
in watercolor on rice paper.
I'm concentrating on Tao,
I'm meditating on the Buddha Silence.
And my funny dog Topah sleeps in a hut near firewood shelter.
Snow flakes are falling.
Cherri trees are heavy with snow.
Now I'm feeling like Arjun,
no trusting Krishna completely.
I'm inhaling divine fragrances,
greasing the palate with lime honey.
Topah wakes up. He's staring at me.
Listens to the singing of the Great Mantra
and blows softly.
- Is the Universe boundless?
- Sure!
- Are we immortal?"
- Why not?
- Are you scared?
- No.
- Why am I so scared?"
- Because you have no knowledge.
- The less you know, the better you sleep?
- And never wake up.
- What shall I do?
- Live.
- Which way?
- Simply and funny.
- But everyone is sad.
- Who is everyone?
- People.
- Not all. You're wrong.
- Why?
- Because you're still sleeping.
- Even now?
- Of course.
- Who are you?
- I'm the one who woke up.
- Where are you?
- On the other side of your dreams.
- How shall I get there?
- Fall asleep in your dream.
The snow is melting. Streams flow.
This is always the case with the first snow.
This year it fell too early.
Until the Indian summer.
But never mind.
Next week silver cobwebs will float across the sky,
a woodpecker will knock in the alder,
the cat will be sleeping on the warm windowsill,
and we will be singing hosanna
to the eternal love.
.
© Valentin Luchenko, 2020