I journeyed thousands of miles today in an hour,
transported from Tampa to Thailand by a temple.
Not by Wat Mongkolratanaram’s gilded spires
but by the peace of the compound, breeze-caressed,
filled with trees, flowers, bromeliads, and bougainvillea.
Behind the temple, a canal like a cat lying in a sunbeam;
in front of it, a quilt of blooming orchids in every color.
The beauty made me stop breathing, thinking, wanting.
With wind washing my soul clean, I saw it again:
the Buddhist monastery where I stayed for three weeks,
trying to meditate in Thai, sitting in my hut for hours,
battling with my ego, flooded with rage and tears,
finally washing up on the shore of calm. It changed me.
I was able to continue despite the death of my father.
- Margaret Zabor
transported from Tampa to Thailand by a temple.
Not by Wat Mongkolratanaram’s gilded spires
but by the peace of the compound, breeze-caressed,
filled with trees, flowers, bromeliads, and bougainvillea.
Behind the temple, a canal like a cat lying in a sunbeam;
in front of it, a quilt of blooming orchids in every color.
The beauty made me stop breathing, thinking, wanting.
With wind washing my soul clean, I saw it again:
the Buddhist monastery where I stayed for three weeks,
trying to meditate in Thai, sitting in my hut for hours,
battling with my ego, flooded with rage and tears,
finally washing up on the shore of calm. It changed me.
I was able to continue despite the death of my father.
- Margaret Zabor
