Buddha with Broken Hand

Joyful Buddha.jpg

My Buddha has a broken hand

But he doesn’t seem to mind.

He reaches both arms

To the sky;

Closed eyes and lips smile;

His bald head reflects

My overhead light.

He is bare chested;

His round, smooth belly

Can barely be contained

By his lower robes.

Bare feet plant him firmly

To the ground.

Look skyward.

Keep your feet planted.

Find joy in the sun and stars.

The ground beneath your toes.

Just because you’re missing digits,

Or broken, cracked, abandoned

Doesn’t mean joy won’t find you.

Be the Buddha.

Raise your broken hand up.

Catch the sunlight.

Let it warm the upturned apples

Of your cheeks.

Admire the precise red paint job

Of those toes.

Smile at the thought of the painter,

Focused on such a tiny canvas.

Get out of your own way.

Embrace a new kind of happy.

Scribble in pretty notebooks.

Be the Buddha.

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