swords of color

Right outside my window I see bird-of-paradise flowers. Some withered, past their glowing prime. Others right there, in full glorious bloom – bright orange, with blue runners, a hint of red on the green sheath. Then there are those birds not yet ready to fly, formed with all that joyful promise, and waiting. Waiting for their time to shine. I see those yet-to-be bird’s and my thought is swords of color. My every time thought.

In Zen lore there is an ancestor named Manjushri – the Bodhisattva of non-dual wisdom. Manjushri is always seen with his sword. It’s the sword with which he slices and cuts away delusion.

Looking out my window – further is the sidewalk and San Diego travelers, walkers and dogs, homeless and runners – but just out there are the birds-of-paradise, their entire life cycle, birth to death. Swords at the ready. There’s not a delusion in sight.

Me and Manjushri – down by the school yard.