All clouds arise and pass away, even the darkest ones.
EVERYTHING AND THE TWO UMBRELLAS
Copyright (c) Linda Daline Limbaugh 2008
Two umbrellas outside the door,
A whirl of emotion,
What do I need?
Not him. Not for them not to be.
What do I need and who can give it to me but me?
What do I need?
To be whole? To be empty?
I gassho to the closed door with the two umbrellas and carry my selves forward.
What do I need?
Who is this I that needs?
The rain falls down.
On me. On who?
What looks up and who falls down?
Two umbrellas outside the door.
I enter the hot 108 degree water.
The steam rises.
No tear arises this time.
Just a dull ache. Heavy. Heaviness.
Where do I feel it? Can I feel my body?
Can I feel my breath? Whose breath?
Two umbrellas outside the door.
What do I need?
Not him. Not for them not to be.
What, then, do I need?
To be whole? To be empty?
What do I need and who can give it to me but me?
What do I need but the knowledge that I do not lack.
The rain falls down on my naked body.
I step into the warm pool.
The rain dances on my head, dances on the surface of the water.
Leaping. Can I leap?
Is there something beside the pain?
Can I find the one who is not hurting?
Can I find the joy?
Can I find the middle of this painjoy without losing my way?
What is there to lose?
What way and what was it that I was looking for?
Two umbrellas outside the door.
I step into the warm, dark room, water dripping slowly from the ceiling.
The air – does it embrace or does it oppress?
Same air – what changes?
I lie back on the wet, wooden bench.
A drop of water lands on my right eye, surprisingly, and I smile,
The thick, warm air covering me like a soft blanket.
What do I need that I do not have?
I walk down to the creek.
It rushes at me, roaring.
What do I need? I roar back.
It just keeps rushing.
I bow deeply.
The rain falls down on me.
I fall on the rain.
Who falls? What is rained on?
We fall down.
We meet.
We are.
We.
I plunge back into the 108 degree water,
leaving the glass door open to the rain,
to me,
to us.
I reach out my arm,
my hand is open.
The fingers curl naturally.
Can I feel the,
yes,
I can feel the rain falling,
feel falling,
feel.
I lean back, the sky is white.
Can I see – what can I see?
How far can my eyes reach?
The rain falls down on me,
It reaches me.
Two umbrellas still outside the door.
Something still stirs inside.
What do I need?
I gassho again, and, once inside my room, miss my watch.
Have to go back again,
past the two umbrellas still outside the door.
How many times down this same path?
Thoughts make deep trails in the ground.
What do I need?
May they have all the time they need to find out if they can meet,
they with their two umbrellas,
behind the closed door.
If they meet, the dharma filling their bodies and minds
– if they open each other’s way,
Then I am more than the everything I was before
– more joy in the world.
We are all more than the everything we already are.
Everything and the two umbrellas.
A whirl of emotion,
What do I need?
Not him. Not for them not to be.
What do I need and who can give it to me but me?
What do I need?
To be whole? To be empty?
I gassho to the closed door with the two umbrellas and carry my selves forward.
What do I need?
Who is this I that needs?
The rain falls down.
On me. On who?
What looks up and who falls down?
Two umbrellas outside the door.
I enter the hot 108 degree water.
The steam rises.
No tear arises this time.
Just a dull ache. Heavy. Heaviness.
Where do I feel it? Can I feel my body?
Can I feel my breath? Whose breath?
Two umbrellas outside the door.
What do I need?
Not him. Not for them not to be.
What, then, do I need?
To be whole? To be empty?
What do I need and who can give it to me but me?
What do I need but the knowledge that I do not lack.
The rain falls down on my naked body.
I step into the warm pool.
The rain dances on my head, dances on the surface of the water.
Leaping. Can I leap?
Is there something beside the pain?
Can I find the one who is not hurting?
Can I find the joy?
Can I find the middle of this painjoy without losing my way?
What is there to lose?
What way and what was it that I was looking for?
Two umbrellas outside the door.
I step into the warm, dark room, water dripping slowly from the ceiling.
The air – does it embrace or does it oppress?
Same air – what changes?
I lie back on the wet, wooden bench.
A drop of water lands on my right eye, surprisingly, and I smile,
The thick, warm air covering me like a soft blanket.
What do I need that I do not have?
I walk down to the creek.
It rushes at me, roaring.
What do I need? I roar back.
It just keeps rushing.
I bow deeply.
The rain falls down on me.
I fall on the rain.
Who falls? What is rained on?
We fall down.
We meet.
We are.
We.
I plunge back into the 108 degree water,
leaving the glass door open to the rain,
to me,
to us.
I reach out my arm,
my hand is open.
The fingers curl naturally.
Can I feel the,
yes,
I can feel the rain falling,
feel falling,
feel.
I lean back, the sky is white.
Can I see – what can I see?
How far can my eyes reach?
The rain falls down on me,
It reaches me.
Two umbrellas still outside the door.
Something still stirs inside.
What do I need?
I gassho again, and, once inside my room, miss my watch.
Have to go back again,
past the two umbrellas still outside the door.
How many times down this same path?
Thoughts make deep trails in the ground.
What do I need?
May they have all the time they need to find out if they can meet,
they with their two umbrellas,
behind the closed door.
If they meet, the dharma filling their bodies and minds
– if they open each other’s way,
Then I am more than the everything I was before
– more joy in the world.
We are all more than the everything we already are.
Everything and the two umbrellas.
