Buddhist Students' Society
Call Me by My
True Names
Thich Nhat Hanh


The Old Mendicant

Being rock, being gas, being mist, being Mind,
being the mesons travelling among the galaxies
at the speed of light,
you have come here, my beloved.
And your blue eyes shine, so beautiful, so deep.
You have taken the path traced for you
from the non-beginning and the never-ending.
You say that on your way here
you have gone through
many millions of births and deaths.
Innumerable times you have been transformed
into firestorms in outer space.
You have used your own body
to measure the age of the mountains and rivers.
You have manifested yourself
as trees, grass, butterflies, single-celled beings,
and as chrysanthemums.
But the eyes with which you look at me this morning
tell me that you have never died.
Your smile invites me into the game
whose beginning no one knows,
the game of hide-and-seek.

O green caterpillar, you are solemnly using your body
to measure the length of the rose branch that grew last Summer.
Everyone says that you, my beloved, were just born this Spring.
Tell me, how long have you been around?
Why wait until this moment to reveal yourself to me,
carrying with you that smile which is so silent and so deep?
O caterpillar, suns, moons, and stars flow out each time I exhale.
Who knows that the infinitely large must be found
in your tiny body?
Upon each point on your body,
thousands of Buddha fields have been established.
With each stretch of your body, you measure time.

from the non-beginning to the never-ending.
The great mendicant of old is still there on Vulture Peak,
contemplating the ever-splendid sunset.

Gautama, how strange!
Who said that the Udumbara flower blooms
only once every 3,000 years?

The sound of the rising tide-- you cannot help hearing it
if you have an attentive ear.
_________________________________________________

Defuse Me

If I were a bomb
ready to explode,
if I have become
dangerous to your life,
then you must take care of me.
You think you can get away from me,
but how?
I am here, right in your midst.
(You cannot remove me from your life)
And I may explode
at any time.
I need your care.
I need your time.
I need you to defuse me.
You are responsible for me,
because you have made a vow (and I heard it)
to love and to care.

I know that to take care of me
you need much patience,
much coolness.
I realize that i you
there is also a bomb to be defused.
So why don't we help each other?

I need you to listen to me.
No one has listened to me.
No one understands my suffering,
including the ones who say they love me.
The pain inside me
is suffocating me.
It is the TNT
that makes up the bomb.
There is no one else
who will listen to me.
That is why I need you.
But you seem to be getting away from me.
You want to run for your safety,
the kind of safety
that does not exist.

I have not created my own bomb.
It is you.
It is society.
It is family.
It is school.
It is tradition.
So please don't blame me for it.
Come and help;
if not, I will explode.
This not a threat.
It is only a plea for help.
I will also be of help
when it is your turn.

continue to page 11

This "love poem" as Joanna Marcy calls it, has to do with the "original face".
In Buddhism, when a teacher says to his student, "Show me your original face," it is an invitation to discover one's nature of interbeing. "My beloved, you have come from the mineral, the gas, the mist, and consciousness. You have gone through many galaxies at the speed of light. And no-beginning and no-ending have come together in order to trace your way. And now you are a caterpillar. I look into you and I recognize that. Although you look small, you have created a firestorm in outer space. And you have measured the age of river and mountains with your tiny body." The infinitely small contains the infinitely large. Practicing meditation is like seeking your beloved. The old mendicant, Shakyamuni Buddha, is still sitting there.
Don't think that he has disappeared. He is still contemplating the beautiful sunset. His preaching is still strong, like the sound
of the rising tide, if you have ears to hear it.

I visited Vulture Peak in 1968, and once in the early morning I saw myself contemplating the sunset with the eyes of the Buddha. When a group of us went there together in 1988, I felt the same thing again. This poem was written in 1970.

Copyright © 1998 by Thich Nhat Hanh
All rights reserved.

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