{"id":8323,"date":"2023-11-17T09:39:44","date_gmt":"2023-11-17T16:39:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/?p=8323"},"modified":"2023-11-17T09:39:44","modified_gmt":"2023-11-17T16:39:44","slug":"mary-oliver-the-buddhas-last-instruction","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/2023\/11\/17\/mary-oliver-the-buddhas-last-instruction\/","title":{"rendered":"Mary Oliver – The Buddha’s Last Instruction"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Buddha\u2019s Last Instruction
\nby Mary Oliver<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cMake of yourself a light,\u201d
\nsaid the Buddha,
\nbefore he died.
\nI think of this every morning
\nas the east begins
\nto tear off its many clouds
\nof darkness, to send up the first
\nsignal \u2014 a white fan
\nstreaked with pink and violet,
\neven green.
\nAn old man, he lay down
\nbetween two sala trees,
\nand he might have said anything,
\nknowing it was his final hour.
\nThe light burns upward,
\nit thickens and settles over the fields.
\nAround him, the villagers gathered
\nand stretched forward to listen.
\nEven before the sun itself
\nhangs, disattached, in the blue air,
\nI am touched everywhere
\nby its ocean of yellow waves.
\nNo doubt he thought of everything
\nthat had happened in his difficult life.
\nAnd then I feel the sun itself
\nas it blazes over the hills,
\nlike a million flowers on fire \u2014
\nclearly I\u2019m not needed,
\nyet I feel myself turning
\ninto something of inexplicable value.
\nSlowly, beneath the branches,
\nhe raised his head.
\nHe looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/a> \u2014 from House of Light<\/a>, by Mary Oliver<\/font><\/p>\n


\/ Image by Tyler Nix<\/a> \/<\/em><\/font><\/p>\n

Like all of you I have been profoundly upset by the war on Gaza. What can one do but feel anguish when witnessing so much death and destruction and displacement? We can turn away, of course. Or we can numb ourselves with rationalizations. Or we can shrug our shoulders and declare it to be tragic for those people over there.<\/p>\n

Seeing an entire population as a problem is an invitation for disaster. Nations inevitably try to contain or eliminate such \u201cproblems.\u201d But those policies are doomed to fail. Trauma leads to rage, rage leads to more violence, more violence leads to new trauma. And so the terrible circle expands. Sometimes slowly, sometimes with horrifying rapidity.<\/p>\n

What can we as individuals do? There are always actions we can take, appropriate to our own lives, whether that is pressuring our politicians, engaging in conversation and respectful debate, protesting\u2026 I try to regularly ask myself what is it I feel called to do? <\/p>\n

While action and asserting oneself is important, there is something more fundamental. We need to be inwardly connected, centered, aware. Action and stillness both naturally proceed from that center point. When we are at rest within the awakened heart, we naturally radiate out into the world. Our actions take on a flow and strength and clarity. All the while stillness remains with us.<\/p>\n

As Mary Oliver\u2019s Buddha says, let us make of ourselves a light. Then we naturally shine. Effortlessly, we touch the world around us, warming it, bringing healing and comfort and illumination. <\/p>\n

Speaking up is important. But being a bright presence in the world is everything.<\/p>\n

=<\/p>\n

This is as much a story as a poem, a retelling of the final moment of the Buddha\u2019s life.<\/p>\n

\u201cMake of yourself a light,\u201d
\nsaid the Buddha,
\nbefore he died.<\/i><\/p>\n

Mm. This simple affirmation of illumination at the moment of death continues to resonate\u2026 through the lines of this poem, and through the centuries.<\/p>\n

Mary Oliver immediately recognizes this as a statement, not of death, but of renewal and the continuation of life.<\/p>\n

I think of this every morning\u2026<\/i><\/p>\n

We are brought, by Mary Oliver\u2019s line, immediately to the dawn. Not the last dimming of light, but the beginning of the new day.<\/p>\n

Knowing it is his last moment, with a life of great striving and penetrating insight behind him, \u201che might have said anything.\u201d Of all the possible philosophical summations and encapsulations, he chooses instead the radiant wisdom embodied by the sun, which lights and warms the whole world.<\/p>\n

The poet seems stunned by such a clear, unencumbered statement with the Buddha\u2019s final breath. Stunned, we stumble into deeper awareness.<\/p>\n

clearly I\u2019m not needed,
\nyet I feel myself turning
\ninto something of inexplicable value.<\/i><\/p>\n

I love these lines. Contemplating the passage through death while affirming the fulness of light and life, somehow we, along with the poet, no longer stand at the center of the world\u2019s narrative. <\/p>\n

When we really pay attention to the story being told all around us, a story that\u2019s been unfolding for ages, the attention shifts away from that perpetual certainty that it is all about \u201cme.\u201d But rather than feeling empty or betrayed, we find ourselves alive and aware and filled with a bubbling glee. We find ourselves made of a gossamer-thin tissue of light.<\/p>\n

Slowly, beneath the branches,
\nhe raised his head.
\nHe looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.<\/i><\/p>\n

These closing lines are so striking. We\u2019ve had an entire scene laid out for us, villagers gathering to be present at the death of this great teacher. The weak and dying Buddha raises his head and looks into the faces of the crowd\u2026 and they are frightened. Now, why is that?<\/p>\n

I imagine it is because of what they see in the Buddha\u2019s eyes: the great mystery, naked and unguarded in that last loving glance.<\/p>\n


\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/a>Recommended Books: Mary Oliver<\/font><\/b><\/p>\n\n

<\/p>\n

\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
New and Selected Poems<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nWhy I Wake Early<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nDream Work<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nHouse of Light<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nThirst: Poems<\/a><\/small><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
More Books >><\/a><\/i><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n

<\/center>
\n<\/p>\n\n\n
\n\"Mary<\/a>\n<\/td>\n\nMary Oliver<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n

US (1935 \u2013 2019) Timeline<\/a>
\nSecular or Eclectic<\/a><\/a>
\n<\/a><\/a><\/em>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n

<\/p>\n

Mary Oliver was born in Cleveland, Ohio in 1935.<\/p>\n

As a young writer, Mary Oliver was influenced by Edna St. Vincent Millay and, in fact, as a teenager briefly lived in the home of the recently deceased Millay, helping to organize Millay\u2019s papers.<\/p>\n

Mary Oliver attended college at Ohio State University, and later at Vassar College.<\/p>\n

Mary Oliver\u2019s poetry is deeply aware of the natural world, particularly the birds and trees and ponds of her adopted state of Massachusetts.<\/p>\n

Her collection of poetry \u201cAmerican Primitive\u201d won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1984.<\/p>\n

More poetry by Mary Oliver<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Buddha\u2019s Last Instruction by Mary Oliver \u201cMake of yourself a light,\u201d said the Buddha, before he died. I think of this every morning as the east begins to tear off its many clouds of darkness, to send up the first signal \u2014 a white fan streaked with pink and violet, even green. An old […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[1412,1401,2546,60,93,2548,2549,2547],"class_list":["post-8323","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-activism","tag-buddha","tag-israel-palestine","tag-light","tag-mary-oliver","tag-palestinians","tag-trauma","tag-war-on-gaza"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8323","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8323"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8323\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8324,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8323\/revisions\/8324"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8323"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8323"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8323"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}