The Buddha by the Door

No Bodhi tree was planted,
Nor did Buddha choose the spot
When placed outside door
In a state of perfect balance
Or not.
Siddhartha Gautama
Is not here as a being,
But as a reminder of himself
To all
Who are seeing.
Not his body,
But his likeness
To remind all who come this way
That sometimes the act of waiting
Is not frittering time away.

Sometimes it is a discipline
To remain still
While the world swirls
In unceasing motion;
In moments
The challenge is to
Remain dry
While submerged deep
In the ocean.

A paradox of being
As he sits with silent knowing
While those who try to grasp
The seminal act
Wind up confronting the fact
That movement is not
Always equivalent
To growing.

The children leave him polished stones
As they enter and leave the door,
Though they have not yet
The understanding
Of what their actions may
Have in store
For them as they grow further
Into humanhood
Both outwardly
And otherwise,
The Buddha by the door remains
The truth: Silence never lies.

And though the fast-paced
Life we often live
Oftentimes
Seems otherwise,
Stillness is not
An illness.