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KREMSER: JOURNEY TO THE HOME IN THE LOTUS
To attend him, I beg for a nun's robe and bundle, In obedience to tradition, I follow my husband." By nightfall, Rajimati had lost her way in the hills. Muffled footprints swirled in all frightful passways, And her own milky feet looked to be bloodied. Slowly she wept, the dripping, homeless tears, ...Tears, the times of empty hands.
Path of Worthy Thorns.
And so passed a long measure of days.
Rajimati was walking into the splashing light of dawn, Already yellow birds were making bright the thorn-brush. All the while, she had cast about for his footprints, Dust, she thought, nothing but red dust and firethorns.
On the path stood a kindly shepherd-child. "Hear what a good monk said to me," she said. "He said, 'Why do you strike your flock in anger? Child, the animals are your younger brothers and sisters, Like to you, they want to dance with the joy of life, And like to you, they fear the red stick of anger. Anger is injury, to you and to your helpless animals, Shepherd-child! Live in your soul's joy of non-injury" The child grew awestruck, "Wonder,
My flock fell to their knees before him,
And I quit anger, in obedience to the good monk."
Rajimati looked at the child of kindly temper. By non-violence, he had broken a bondage of anger. "Child, my thanks." And Rajimati moved on.
"
Now the birds were singing of gold-weaved dreams. My husband, she thought, it is he and none other, The good monk, speaking for his wailing food-animals, And I am near to overtaking him, to returning with him, Home! To our rosewater fountains, hand-in-hand!
Then an inner voice said to Rajimati:
You inherited your love for him in your soul, He abandoned you, you flung your garlands after him, Of what, your deed? Your deed was of anger, While to your husband, anger is an injury.'
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