Buddha*s birthday

Every morning I receive a number of things to help me reflect.  Today I was reminded by Garrison Keillor that it is Buddha*s birthday.  I probably wouldn*t  have known otherwise.  I don*t think of Buddha having a birthday, much less what the occasion looks like.  Fixing it to a particular date on the calendar (like we have fixed Jesus to the 25th of December) seems curious to me.  But we all have a birthday.  It*s part of what anchors us to the earth, to time specific.  Of course Lent is tied to the spring cycle of the moon.  I don*t know about specific dates, and the Buddha.  Maybe he is tied to the moon as well, like Lent, and Easter.

Today is Buddha*s birthday.

Here past the middle of Lent

We remember all sorts of things

Even the birthday of the Buddha,

The day when all flowers were said

To bloom

Simultaneously.

Here

Past the middle of Lent,

We remember all sorts of things.

Even Buddha.

Here it is the seventh of April

On the calendar;

There are so many things

To remember

And detail.

The lawn people took the rotted edges

Off the garden bed.

Last night I saw it in the evening light.

Without edges,

It looked like a grave,

A three by seven mound of dirt.

It seems they even cleared

The rhubarb,

But maybe it is still there

Under the dirt.

Here it is past the middle of Lent,

The birthday of Buddha.

The fortune cookie last night said:

Everything will now come your way.

It is a scary thought.

Still

I wait for all the flowers to bloom

At once.