The burnt orange sunrise strikes the wet of my back
As I bow my forehead on the steep sandstone track
Drops of sweat offered to the dust
So grateful to be walking away from lust.
Thousands of steps stretching to the sky
Mindful footsteps right, left, right
Forehead placed on sacred dirt
Where once Lord Buddha walked upon this earth.
Were it not for the Buddha,
These feed would drag me down
Were it not for the Dhamma
We would not be rising now.
Palms joined together, thumbs touching head
Pressed to throat, pressed to chest
Head bowed in supplication for the profundity of teaching
In penance too for any mindless breaching.
Though the going is hard it feels good and right
3 steps 1 bow at dawn – the day replaces night
Above the mud the lotus does rise
The darkness of ignorance mindfulness outshines.
Bowing with a heart’s most noble aspirations
There is also time for focused dedications
And prayers for every being for which you care
… as well as those in all directions everywhere.
Past the cave where Moggallana once stayed
Candles flicker and pilgrims quietly pray
Past the cave where Sariputta attained
Tears of grateful joy suppress the muscle pain.
On wobbly legs the summit you have reached
Prayer flags flutter up on Vulture’s Peak
The light of early morning is a special shade of gold
It was harder this time, you are getting old!
The morning dew lifts from ancient boulders
You wrap your robe around your shoulders
Monkeys gather also on the craggy knolls
And black birds are hungry, are they ravens or crows?
The empty skies feel close to heaven
In meditation upon the mountain
Here the devas gathered to hear the Lord teach
Listen closely, can you hear them in the breeze?
Emptiness of sky
Emptiness of self
Full of mindful knowing
Void of suffering.
Behind Vulture’s Peak mountain
A blood-red sunset falls
Like the life giving blood of the masters
Who came this way before.
Ajahn Achalo






