Looking forwards towards the past,
our backs face the Unknown future
but we can see the past.
Just now I saw the rusty old plough.
The stones and rot of last years ferns,
of its age , the height of technology.
Picked., no doubt ,from a catalogue
much perused by winters candle light.
Replacing the older wooden plough.
"Dieu, how she cuts now Dad !"
Then ,after the war when the new tractor arrived,
the horses grew fat and lazy,
the old plough put to one side, carefully,
for she had been the old man's
pride and joy.
The Buddha remembered his father
ploughing the sacred plough ,
while he , the young Sidartha watched.
This recollection is held to be
the breakthrough which led
to his enlightenment.
This plough, this rusty old plough
lies in the remains of an outhouse
in a Buddhist retreat centre.
Where meditators break the
hard crust of their habits
to reach the rich humus beneath.
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