The lotus blossoms in July, so the other day I took a trip−something of an annual pilgrimage of sorts−to a provincial park famous for its sea of pink lotuses. I go there every summer and just saunter around the huge pond for half a day or so and then return.
The rainy season had already begun and when I arrived it was drizzling and the park was deserted. With umbrella in hand, I stood on the footbridge in the center of the pond, inhaling the mystical fragrance and watching the raindrops fall on the large green lotus pads. As it began to rain harder, it was interesting to observe that what seemed like large raindrops falling in front of my eyes looked more like tiny grains of millet once they landed on the pads.
Then I noticed something else.
The raindrops would collect into little transparent crystal pools on the pads. As more raindrops fell, the pools became larger and heavier, and the pads began to roll the pools around on their surfaces. When these little crystal pools grew to a certain size and weight, the pads unhesitatingly dropped them down onto the other pads below. Those pads in turn rolled the pools around until they were too big and heavy, whence they just rolled them off and down into the pond.
I watched this process rather indifferently until I realized what was going on, and then I marveled at the wisdom to be found in the lotus pond. The pads held what they could until it became too much for them, and then they freed themselves of their burdens. If they didn't and, out of greed, tried to hold as many raindrops as possible, then either the pads would tear or their stems would break from the weight.
- Zen Master Bopjong, Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall
2010
164 pp.
ISBN: 978-0-89581-825-6
$20, Softcover
$9.99 - eBook (Order from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, Apple Books or Kobo)
