First paragraphs of The Ascension (aka Legend of PuMa Tse). First book of Lesser Pu (https://createspace/4944775). “PŭMa Tse, the grand master, the living Buddha has died!” The announcement was heralded on every corner. When a great leader dies, the people cry. Certainly, many people are crying, but others, out of respect and understanding, smile, for the great PŭMa Tse has attained the ultimate greatness, has transmigrated into eternity—escaped both mortality and immortality. In spite of my understanding of these things, I have found myself at times crying, and for what reason I am not sure. Maybe it is for the poor unguided masses that I cry. Maybe it is self-pity. The great master had gone to the great beyond and entered Para-Nirvana—would no longer be a bodhisattva. The great master would now be counted as a past Buddha, rather than a living one. The city is in turmoil. Men are throwing down their tools, kicking and punching walls. Women are pulling at their clothes and hair, screaming out their tears. All the shops closed. The vegetable stands folded up their umbrellas and cleared their tables. Everyone put on black to show their state of mourning. Everyone is walking with their heads bowed—dejected, sorrowful, for a living Buddha is no longer walking among us, guiding us to the great wisdom of ultimate peace, love and harmony. A national holiday of mourning is now declared. Schools and most public offices have closed. It is as if by the silencing of a single voice, the entire world has died. Why should I, Turner (translated from Cheng-wei meaning “become”) cry for myself? When I think of PŭMa Tse’s demise, I recall a block of wood I saw just three weeks ago in a tearoom at the Academy, the school of PŭMa Tse. I went to the Academy to interview for the position of schoolmaster. Shui (water) led me to a small building in the middle of the compound, sitting on top of a man-made lake. The door Shui opened was half the height of a man, assuring whoever entered had to duck. I often wished I had the resources to build a tearoom like this. “If you wait here,” Shui instructed, “I will gather the council to meet with you.” “Thank you,” I said, ducking into the room. She slid the door closed behind me. The ceiling must have been the height of two men, but after passing through the door it felt awkward to stand upright, so I remained prostrate as I moved through the room. The sun shining through the rice paper walls lighted the room naturally. The floor was a smooth, dark wood, with a nice shine. A small table sat on one side of the room with a stove, clearly for tea ceremonies. On the table were little teacups and a kettle. The cups were dull looking, their edges as thick as a man’s finger. In the middle of the room, surrounded by mats, was what appeared to be a tree stump. It was rough, dark with age. I sat myself on the floor facing east toward it, with my back to the door on the west side of the room. The stump was intriguing by itself, so I decided to use my time absorbing it in my mind....
Posted on: Tue, 02 Sep 2014 19:25:18 +0000
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