Sending Postcards To The Buddha

in my rush to follow jesus
i have forgotten to send postcards
to buddha, which he likes.

mona lisa master.
his serene smile. his amused eyes.

empty mind
prayer on his still lips.

unlike the letters I write jesus
the postcards are best left blank
except for the address:

buddha,
jack pine tree
end of long dusty road
far up the mountain

novelty photos
or landscapes or miniature golf
courses with odd themes are
favorites.

in upstate new york, years ago,
i saw a small buddha statute
observing the ninth hole of a
putt-putt.
after all,
enlightenment
can come at a stroke...

under the bright lights that click on
at sunset, no doubt jesus could beat
the final “free game” hole
without cheating,
while buddha would keep an honest score.

after, on the long drive home,
they would smoke cigarettes,

listen to Elvis
on far away AM stations,
and sing along:

“...Please don’t ask me what’s on my mind
i’m a little mixed up, but i’m feelin’ fine...”



Namaste.