
The following is a piece that came to me in a dream a couple years back after reading Herman Hesse’s novel, Siddhartha (highly reccommended). -arowbe
Letter From a Father to a Prince.
Dear Siddhartha,
My Son - Thus Gone One, I speak
to you this day with regret and fear
deep was my doubt in your pass. Tears
wept, now cannot drown my utter belief.
Your father was displeased with Siddhartha,
In ire my plea and prayer required your stay.
I wholly rescind objecting your fate
in hindering your essential departure.
My responses were not of true Brahman’s
form, nor father’s nor archer’s. For I
can but guide, an arrow - in flight
while each dart must finds its target.
Last eve, in a scene and state among
waking and dream, I perceived
young Siddhartha, the bearded lean
Samana by the banyan trees: A man
I’d never seen suffer. Near dying.
Though before I could dishearten,
He was rising. Untainted was Siddhartha:
a canyon of all men and environments.
In finality, wholeness and placence.
Of all nature and light without action .
Without passion, thirst or distraction.
A mode of your own, deliver those faces.
And upon your return,
I will be your first pupil.
May Atman sing songs within you,
Your father,
Suddhodana