The Buddha Meets Christmas
In the soft glow of a December moon,
Beneath the banyan tree where silence blooms,
The Buddha sat,
Eyes closed, heart open,
Listening to the whisper of winter's breath.
A star pierced the dark velvet sky,
Its light falling like snowflakes upon the earth.
It spoke not of kingdoms or thrones,
But of a manger’s quiet humility,
Of a child swaddled in simplicity,
Love cradling him like a prayer.
"Peace," murmured the Buddha,
Fingers brushing the earth,
A witness to the stillness within,
The eternal birth of compassion.
Candles flickered in distant windows,
Echoing the Eightfold Path,
Their flames a reminder
Of the suffering they melted away.
The carolers sang of angels,
Voices rising in perfect harmony,
Not unlike the chant of monks
Seeking refuge in their sangha,
Both finding the sacred in the collective.
“What is this day but a moment?”
Buddha pondered,
A single thread in samsara’s weave,
Yet a chance to pause, to breathe,
To drape the world in love's quiet cloth.
So Christmas met the lotus,
Silent joy kissed eternal peace,
And in that union,
The world grew still,
For a breath,
For a lifetime.
Here, wisdom bowed to grace,
And grace to wisdom.
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