Right Here, Right Now

When I first moved to an old neighborhood near downtown, I placed a stone Buddha, about 12 inches high, under a bush in front of my house; it sits on an embankment facing the street, inches from the sidewalk. If you were to stroll by, it would be at about hip level, slightly recessed under the bush, so it may not always be immediately apparent, especially if you are rushing down the hill to work or school.

I sometimes wonder how people walking by interact with the Buddha. Do they find it calming? Are they indifferent? Hostile? Does it function as the quarter mile marker as they trudge up the hill toward home? Is it just a garden ornament, like a stone deer or frog? On Friday nights, the occasional drunkard or stoner stumbles by, sometimes with a rowdy group. Do they even notice?

With all the troubles in this world, I would not be surprised to find the Buddha's head lopped off one day. People assign meaning to the objects around them, and act on them accordingly. Sometimes those meanings flash by in a brief instant as an emotional disturbance, a happy memory, or vague sadness. Sometimes meanings explode into convoluted and threatening fantasy or political screed.

On rare occasions I'll find a marble, a tiny flower, or a smooth pebble placed near the statue. For all I know, it may be from a crow; they occasionally drop shiny objects on my brick patio (which is in front of the house), near the birdbath.

This morning, a small group of people out on the sidewalk were talking animatedly; they were at street level, near the bushes. Not sure what all they were talking about (I suspect one of the big three: fire, flood, or politics). It seemed from the tone that the conversation could be going in any direction; I thought I heard concern, a suppressed but sarcastic laugh, a brief monologue about something in the news---there was the pause that happens when a group is getting ready to break up and head off in opposite directions. Finally, I heard someone say, "Well, the Buddha's here."