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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=351279" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Shoveling Snow With Buddha</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok<br>you would never see him doing such a thing,<br>tossing the dry snow over a mountain<br>of his bare, round shoulder,<br>his hair tied in a knot,<br>a model of concentration.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word<br>for what he does, or does not do.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even the season is wrong for him.<br>In all his manifestations, is it not warm or slightly humid?<br>Is this not implied by his serene expression,<br>that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But here we are, working our way down the driveway,<br>one shovelful at a time.<br>We toss the light powder into the clear air.<br>We feel the cold mist on our faces.<br>And with every heave we disappear<br>and become lost to each other<br>in these sudden clouds of our own making,<br>these fountain-bursts of snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is so much better than a sermon in church,<br>I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling.<br>This is the true religion, the religion of snow,<br>and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky,<br>I say, but he is too busy to hear me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He has thrown himself into shoveling snow<br>as if it were the purpose of existence,<br>as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway<br>you could back the car down easily<br>and drive off into the vanities of the world<br>with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All morning long we work side by side,<br>me with my commentary<br>and he inside his generous pocket of silence,<br>until the hour is nearly noon<br>and the snow is piled high all around us;<br>then, I hear him speak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">After this, he asks,<br>can we go inside and play cards?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk<br>and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table<br>while you shuffle the deck.<br>and our boots stand dripping by the door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes<br>and leaning for a moment on his shovel<br>before he drives the thin blade again<br>deep into the glittering white snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Billy+Collins">Billy Collins</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=351279" data-title="Shoveling Snow With Buddha de Billy Collins" data-description="In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
his hair tied in a knot,
a model of concentration.

Sitting is more his speed, if..."></div>
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