0198 Buddha Meets Christ, Says Nothing

The Buddha (is that one or multiple, theologically?) sits at his total ease in our back garden such as it is in his plastic only partially disguised pool, with today a white ranunculus floating at his feet he’s externally nicely moulded of fine concrete and since the fig tree with its leaves big enough to make yourself an apron of though you’d need apronstrings, – has been cut down, he’s emerged from the shadow of it which made him unpleasantly greeny-mouldy; but now the sunlight has dried him into a light and Springy green which is almost fluorescent and sorta floaty he gives interest to the garden, makes a space of his own and also makes the garden shapely, a focal point or some such decorator term. He seems very happy there -perhaps anywhere; he certainly makes me happy to see him; he wipes thought away. It would be poetic to say that he was already contemplating all peacefully when dawn broke this day of solemn days, the Good or Bad Friday depending; but then he seems not to worry about time anyway under his demure, downcast eyelids but he’s so there he’s here, and was and is, no mere garden ornament and whatever he sees inside, it’s there in me too as Emerson said of this sweet contemplation what he makes of the events of this day is certainly a question – just suppose he’d been there discreetly in the crowd, saying nothing, just contemplating the scene; and the roving cameraman spotted him and asked for a quote big answers deserve big questions; maybe this half-formed question deserves more contemplation. I’ll just shut up and go look at him again as the evening light reflected from the windows of the house opposite bathes him in an intense sunset burst of glory with no apparent source so that he glows with a radiant promise of peace forever to all men; a promise as Christ’s prayer-book puts it so memorably – past all understanding.