Three Portraits of Maitreya


Maitreya dipped his face into the black pool, his spiral eyes open, his nose and mouth submerged. Outside, on the gravel of the garden path, his fingertip traced patterns which three scribes copied down exactly on their parchment. Maitreya thought of a toy from his youth and smiled in the water. When he looked up through up the surface of the pool he saw the dancing molecules of this world. The labyrinth he had circled in was broken. It became time to walk down the mountainside. Maitreya walked down toward us.


Maitreya looks into the silver hallway-mirror, brushes a stray toast crumb from his beard. His hands move in a gesture expressing the nature of birth which no one sees. The sound of the records being played upstairs filters down through the wooden floorboards. Matrices representing life scream like Catherine wheels in his head. The handle of his walking stick is thick and knotty. It becomes time to visit the fruit market. Maitreya moves toward the front door.


Maitreya will face the television cameras as a white bird, his luxuriant wings spreading. He will perform gestures to summon the aliens in their U.F.O.s. The aliens will accept Maitreya’s energy to end their invisibility on the surface of the Earth. The sunset will be sudden. The moon will hang purple in the night. It will become time for us all to listen and obey our hearts. Maitreya will be in our hearts.

5 March 2007
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