The Teacher’s Continuation

While visiting the land of Aloha, I wrote a poem to Dear Thich Nhat Hanh, who is one of my teacher’s, and now a spiritual ancestor. It’s been 2 years since his passing, January 21 in the USA and January 22 in Vietnam, his country of origin. 

The Teacher’s Continuation

January 21, 2024
©2024 Karla Johnston InnerConstellation.com

 

Hawaii, wake up: 
moisture-sky, rain droplets and rooster calls. 
Good morning, Dear Thay,*

Two years since your passing.
Beloved teacher, I bow to you.
Feeling the quality of my teacher’s breathing

In…and out…as driving to the temple, I park,

grateful for the auspicious timing of the visit. 

 

Kwan Yin statue ~ golden, monstrous, garish.

Bows, incense offerings, 
bows, fake money aflame for prosperity, 
bows, an old mangy Tom Cat batting around his empty dish,

not too hungry for affection, we greet, rub, bump.

I walk next door to Foster Botanical Gardens,
to a Bodhi tree, a descendant of the tree of enlightenment.

A gifted branch, planted by Mary Foster. 
Its green heart-shaped leaves quiver and shine.
I bow my head to my ancestors, to the care and tending of Mary Foster, 
to the tall, sprawling green-armed bodhisattva, entirely alive. 

Self-tour of ancient trees, numbers 1-21.
Number 18 remains allusive, 
even after persistent returning again and again to the map.
Undiscovered, Doum Palm, an early relative that produced fruit found in King Tut’s tomb, 
a prized specimen, largest in the U.S.

I sit beneath the Bodhi Tree, 
breathing-in enlightenment…
breathing-out, poetry. 

Then, I pack it up, and walk back to the temple, to a still-hungry cat,
who is now mewing his unhappiness. 
I sit beside him, offer my condolences, 
consider if he would share the banana I have in my backpack. 
A temple tender opens the door next to us
and we produce the most sorrowful expressions we can muster. 

She smiles and comes back with a bag of Meow Mix.  

All of us are entirely dependent on a multitude of kindnesses: 
a Bodhi tree, an ancient Egyptian fruit, 
the hands that feed us, our dear teachers,

If we think that’s the only magic, 

the point is missed. 

 

I offer a single stick of incense, watch the cat hum happily,
drop a donation in the jar,

walk to my friend’s borrowed car and start the engine.

Every single thing encountered, is sacred—

a vehicle, an inspiration, a holy persistence,

and we are their continuation.  
 

*Thay – Vietnamese for ‘teacher,’ in this instance Thich Nhat Hanh