Temple Dream - Part VIII
I studied the top of the monk’s head—it was not clean shaven. This startled me. Was that allowed? To go unshaven. To allow this shadow lawn of stubble?
Ridiculous I know but at the time it shook me. And over the years this question has become a personal joke. “Is that allowed?” I will ask—unnerving those who can’t be sure I’m joking about an insignificant detail, who then struggle to answer intelligently, then turn to Google.
“Is that allowed?” I will whisper to myself and smile. This a check on my need for the ordinary to meet the traditional standards of ordinary. Let it go. Let it go. And it occurs to me now that I have never told this to anyone.
So this is what I could see from where I floated above, this and his ears which were oddly large and perpendicular to his head.
And I was floating lower—pendulous like a leaf on a Spring breeze. I guesstimated that I would eventually land on the top of the Buddha’s right foot and was looking forward to learning where I was—continent, country, village. And of utmost importance, given the directions to a tourist shop for that disposable camera.