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Two Poems by Brian Doyle
His Holiness The Dalai Lama,
Manifestation Of Chenrezig,
Boddhisatva Of Compassion,
Stops The Car Along The Road
To Watch Children Play Soccer
And remembers playing soccer himself long ago,
In Taktser, or Roaring Tiger, in northeast Tibet,
Or what used to be Tibet, he thinks darkly, but he is
Too tired to be exhausted, and too used to laughter
To sink into a sometimes-very-welcome despond,
And too interested in the game to miss the moment
Unfolding as a lean lanky girl breaks from the pack
And bears down on the goalkeeper and fakes once
Twice and then lashes a howling shot to the upper
Right corner the goalie leaps and sails and flails and
The shot just misses and His Holiness clambers out
Of the car to applaud both the shot and the near-save.
The children turn to see who is clapping but he’s no
One they know and no one’s dad so they ignore him.
He leans against the warm flank of the car. The driver
Gets out too and lights a cigarette. The game resumes.
Neither man speaks for a moment. The sun is warm.
One day four men came to visit, says His Holiness.
I was asked to choose between two rosaries. I did so.
Then I was asked to choose between pairs of eyeglasses.
I was asked to choose a staff. I did these things. Then
They asked my parents if they might search my body
For the eight holy marks. When they were finished
Examining me they conferred among themselves.
Out behind our house my friends were playing soccer.
They were calling for me to come and play the game.
Lhamo! they called. Lhamo! The men were solemn.
They bowed to my father and my mother, and one man,
The oldest of them, said We have found Avalokitesvara.
Lhamo! my friends were calling. Bring your fast feet!
He is Tenzin Gyatso, the Ocean of Wisdom, said the man.
Also bring your ball because Sonam the idiot lost his ball!
He is Yeshe Norbu, the Wish-Fulfilling Gem, said the man.
Lhamo! If you do not come soon you have to be goalkeeper!
He is Jetsun Ngawang, the Holy Compassionate One,
Said the man, and he made a sign and everyone knelt,
Even my father and mother. For a moment no one spoke,
So I figured they were done with the matter at hand,
And I smiled to think of the game to come, because my
Ball loved the goal, but then the man said, He is Kundun,
The Presence, and everything was different ever after.
His Holiness The Dalai Lama,
Manifestation Of Chenrezig,
Boddhisatva Of Compassion,
Discusses His Predecessors
With The Driver Of His Car
As they lean against the warm metal flank of it,
The driver smoking a cigarette and His Holiness
Absorbed by children playing soccer in the sun,
The driver asks about this whole reincarnation gig.
Are you really all the reincarnated guys before you?
Well, says His Holiness, my esteemed predecessors
Were incarnations of a wise and holy being, as I am.
Huh, says the driver, pulling long on his cigarette.
Some beings, continues His Holiness, having risen to joy
And understanding, return freely to the ocean of suffering
To be of assistance to other beings. This is who I am,
Or try to be. Which is why I am always on the road
And why I have the honor of your company, Harold.
Who were the other guys before you? asks the driver.
There were thirteen servants before me, says His Holiness.
There was Gedun Drub, who was an austere man, and
There was Gedun Gyatso, who was a poet, and
There was Sonam Gyatso, who loved to travel, and
There was Yonten Gyatso, who swam in strife, and
There was Lozang Gyatso, who had visions, and
There was Tsangyang Gyatso, who wrote love songs.
There was Kelzang Gyatso, who was a scholar, and
There was Jamphel Gyatso, first to meet the West, and
There was Lungtok Gyatso, who died at age eleven, and
There was Tsultrim Gyatso, who died at age twenty, and
There was Khendrup Gyatso, who died at seventeen, and
There was Trinley Gyatso, who died at age eighteen, and
There was Thupten Gyatso, who knew China would eat Tibet.
And now there is only me, always on the road, not dead
Yet. Shall we go? Harold nods and stubs out his cigarette
On the grille of the car. His Holiness bows to the soccer
Players, who do not see him. There are bees everywhere.
Brian Doyle is the editor of Portland Magazine at the University of Portland. He is the author most recently of Leaping: Revelations & Epiphanies, a collection of essays, and has two books forthcoming in the Fall of 2004: Spirited Men: Story, Soul, and Substance (Cowley Publications), and, as editor, The Best Catholic Writing 2004 (Loyola Press).
Copyright © 2004 Brian Doyle. All rights reserved.
This page was published July 2004. |
