Saturday Poem

Upon His Manifestations of Sickness

Manjusri: Householder, of what sort is your sickness?

Vimalakirti: It is immaterial and invisible.

I should tell you first that when the wind blows,
I feel wild joy, and when the settling leaves
restructure the street, I feel untied
because my sickness is of the sort
that is unphysical: the shape of wind.
And my sickness is of the sort
that is unseeable: the color of wind.

But you asked, Of what sort is your sickness?

It is invisible: a wild red joy.
It is immaterial: a wind-flung freedom.
It is what requires me to stand in the doorway:
the blinding, color-wild pavement,
the disembodied sound.

by Christine Hartzler

from The Teachings; Mudlark No. 60, 2006