Saturday, December 31, 2011

Buddha & Egg




They sat on my mantel for a season, each from a different friend, one still on the planet, the other felled by a brain cancer that kills within eight months. Living nearly four years because doctors operated three times, my friend would return after each ordeal more numinous.

"Keep this for me, Ok?"

"Sure." I said, knowing that it would be forever.

Wrapped like a mummy in a small box, the buddha lived for centuries in a cave in Nepal where monks sat and meditated. The egg also arrived in a small box, lying on a bed of pink paper straw, baby Jesus with a Roman face, ready to rend the veil in two while perched on an 1880's inkwell. I ensconced the buddha on red Victorian velvet within a 1950's Italian frame, while the egg was meant to be opened and gave up its jewel-like treasure. The buddha now graces a bedroom wall and whispers about what does and does not matter on the cusp of this New Year.

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