A butterfly flits
Through a small group of pilgrims
Gathered to remember
Past a statue of
Amitābha Buddhaya
That was not wanted
Past a stupa for
Our teacher of mindfulness
That was not wanted
The butterfly knows
Where to find the Buddha
It moves toward the flowers
A bell is sounded
The pilgrims rise and stand up
Bow to each other
Then they turn their backs
To statue and stupa and
Bow to the mountains
The butterfly smiles
For it knows the Buddha’s face
And so do these folks
The butterfly smiles
Nam Mô A Di Đà Phật aum
For it is the Buddha too
This poem was written on the morning of December 9,
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A butterfly flits
Through a small group of pilgrims
Gathered to remember
Past a statue of
Amitābha Buddhaya
That was not wanted
Past a stupa for
Our teacher of mindfulness
That was not wanted
The butterfly knows
Where to find the Buddha
It moves toward the flowers
A bell is sounded
The pilgrims rise and stand up
Bow to each other
Then they turn their backs
To statue and stupa and
Bow to the mountains
The butterfly smiles
For it knows the Buddha’s face
And so do these folks
The butterfly smiles
Nam Mô A Di Đà Phật aum
For it is the Buddha too
This poem was written on the morning of December 9, 2023, while visiting the crematorium outside of Thầy’s hometown of Huế, Vietnam. Traveling hand-in-hand and arm-in-arm with my wife, Anna Sunderland Engels, who shot the photos that accompany this poem, I visited this serene place on a pilgrimage to Thầy’s root temple of Từ Hiếu organized by Buddhapath and led by Dharmacharya Shantum Seth and Gitu Seth. On this trip we met many Buddhas, saw many lotuses, and meditated with many butterflies.
