The Loneliest Pinecone Part Two

Note: I know I said this would come yesterday, but I'm a lazy mofo who likes to sleep.

I turned right onto the road that went between the hospital and the baseball diamonds that were near the park, wondering what was going to happen next. Part of me was afraid of getting shot. It was early morning in Phoenix and I'm just a naive country boy from rural Idaho. When I arrived at the parking lot next to the closed and emptied public swimming pool I found only a white Jeep and a black dog sharing the scene. I parked my truck, picked up my lonely friend and headed out slowly and randomly.

It was cold and probably half an hour before the sun would crest the lowest hills surrounding Phoenix. It was quiet as traffic was still lumbering slowly out of sleep. I could hear the stiff grass under my shoes and feel the cold air through the many holes in my shoes. I had my hood up over my shaved head and my hands inside my sleeves and those inside my sweatshirt pockets.

I didn't know what exactly I was doing there, so I just drifted alone, letting whatever had given me this idea in the first place guide me. I ended up in a circle of three trees near a wall that separated the park from a school. A cluster of branches from the largest tree curved down gracefully until it was only three feet from the ground. It seemed to be pointing to the spot. I stuck the loneliest pinecone right where the branches were pointing. There's wasn't a single tree that made loneliest pinecones in the whole park. I smiled at the little mystery I had created.

Satisfied I looked up to see if anyone else was around but the pinecone and I. There was only the black dog, busy with his own devices. I sat on the sloping base of the tree and crossed my legs facing the growing light. I placed my hands inside their opposite sleeves like I was ancient Chinese and made the delicate circle of Zen meditation hand posture, thumbs at the top pressing together only enough to hold a single leaf of paper.

I waited for the sun to come up.

An outcropping in the tree poked my ankle, but not too badly. The wind rustled the leaves above my head and through all the trees of the park wonderfully. I thought it was a shame Phoenix wasn't as windy as Idaho. Two young boys walked through the park and wrestled on their way to school. The black dog and white Jeep had moved on. A coughing man on a bike rode past and I tried not to feel differently in his presence. I began to feel the tiny increases of warmth on my face as the sun crept up, still behind the hills. I saw the light grow in small degrees through the park.

"Look!" I joked to myself, "I'm like the Buddha!" Almost simultaneously the thought came: "I am the Buddha." Everything became still, inside and out. Each eye let loose a single small tear that rolled symmetrically down my rounded smiling cheeks. Suddenly in a deserted park on a cold morning in Phoenix a curtain had been raised for a second and I had glimpsed the truth. Then it came down again, but the after-image remained.

I had read multiple texts where monks had talked about each living thing being the Buddha and everything having Buddha nature. It had always been a nice thought but hadn't particularly struck any chords in me. Now I had experienced the faint echo of this teaching.

The only difference between myself and anything else, the only line of separation, was all in my mind. The tree I was sitting under and my nature weren't separate. The Buddha and I weren't two, we were one. My loved ones and I could never be apart.

The loneliest pinecone wasn't lonely after all. He was the trees all around him and they were him. Inside him was the seed and the tall tree. He was the soil, the air, the rain, and the Sun that supported everything. I looked over and he didn't look the same as before. The loneliest pinecone looked whole and complete and content.

As the sun rose I walked back to my truck, light and happy. I left him there under that tree. I went back to see him today and he was still there, just a little closer to the sunrise. I couldn't see as much of the truth as I had seen in him before, but I knew it was there still. Things like that don't go anywhere.

- BuddhaDave

I had no idea it'd turn out like this, excuse my hokeyness!