Mahayana in Vermont
By Sydney Lea
My objectives this morning were vague.
As always I'd hike these hills—
a way to keep going
against the odds age deals,
a way to keep body and soul
together, and not so much thinking
as letting things steal into mind—
but I started counting
from the very first step I took.
I wore rank old boots, ill-laced,
and patchwork pants.
Around my neck hung the frayed
lanyard of a whistle I use
to summon our trio of dogs,
who capered and yelped their pleasure
at one of our walks,
and more miraculous still,
at having me for a master.
It's true in a sense
that I always count as I wander,
though it's usually the beats of a tune
(Thelonious's "Blue Monk"
a favorite) that mark my time.
These counts felt odder,
better. We scattered a brood
of grouse at step 91.
The deerflies strafed us.
At 500 a late trillium
glowed by a ledge like a lotus.
Right along the rain kept pounding.
I was mindful of all these things
but I never stopped counting.
Life was good, and more.
It was worthy of better response.
At 1000 I thought,
Enough—and counted on.
Nothing was coming to mind.
Nothing is coming again
from my hike half the day ago
with three dogs through rain
but a mystic sense of well-being
in quietly chanted numbers.
Whatever this trance,
I treasured it as a wonder
not to be wrenched into meaning,
as in Every second counts,
as in You should count your blessings,
though of those there seems no doubt.
Copyright Credit: Sydney Lea, "Mahayana in Vermont" from I Was Thinking of Beauty. Copyright © 2013 by Sydney Lea. Reprinted by permission of Four Way Books.
Source: I Was Thinking of Beauty (Four Way Books, 2013)