By Johanna Heavlin-Martinez
Bowing deeply, my breath
slows my mind.
How can I place my hand in yours
and grasp the body that remains,
when we never touched before?
With great care, my fingers
gather your ashes and place them
into the hollow of my palm.
I begin to cry;
Already a subscriber? Log in
You have read 5 articles this month.
For only $3 per month or $28 per year, you can read as much as you want!
A digital subscription includes unlimited access to current articles–and some exclusive digital content–released throughout each week, over thirty years of articles in our Dharma archive, as well as PDFs of all back issues.
By Johanna Heavlin-Martinez
Bowing deeply, my breath
slows my mind.
How can I place my hand in yours
and grasp the body that remains,
when we never touched before?
With great care, my fingers
gather your ashes and place them
into the hollow of my palm.
I begin to cry; the tears know
my ignorance.
My hands are no longer my own.
Bowing deeply, my breath
listens to my heart.
Where do we go from here?
Breathe and walk, you say.
Follow the path, you say.
Someone is crying beside a tree;
another’s eyes pierce the ground.
One step follows the other….
The echoes of our lineage gently
guide me toward the truth.
My hands are no longer my own.
Bowing deeply, my breath
finds solidity.
Who saw the boulder first?
Me or you? Or was it my father?
Slowly opening my hands, I cry.
Your smooth gray dust covers
my father’s hands.
The wind carries you gracefully.
Those who sit here and ponder
their suffering, will hear your voice,
“What an opportunity you have
before you ...”
As they look at their hands,
they will be surprised to see,
their hands are no longer their own.
Bowing deeply, my breath
provides insight.
As we walk down the path together
there are branches to be held,
leaves to crunch,
tears to dry,
hands to hold,
and friends to hug.
My hands have graced
the Buddha’s flower.
Bhikku Chan Phap De
because of you,
my hands are no longer my own.
Johanna Heavlin-Martinez, Tranquil Wisdom of the Heart, enjoys practicing with the Rising Tide Sangha in Oceanside and is currently building a new Sangha, the Nameless Sangha OC, in Irvine, California. Johanna received a scholarship from the Thich Nhat Hanh Foundation last summer to attend the Educator’s Retreat at Blue Cliff
Monastery. She wrote this poem in September 2016 after attending Brother Phap De’s memorial and spreading his ashes.
