Bausana

Bausana!

That markéd font from which all springs;
That lucid liquid from which we sup.

In truth, we would be lost without you,
Mired in drunkenness without a cup.

Your lustre makes glow the elusive,
Freeing all one needs to know.

I can scarce speak as to your nature
But as above, so below.

Beauty! One cannot describe it,
Only marvel at its shine.

As if by some occult device,
It glimmers gently through the brine.

No nobler pursuit than that of truth
One can find incarnate,

So go forth and seek! For
None can wait for Bausana.

“Bausana”, by Asher Sidon (1684)

A young Bausanan student went on a pilgrimage to see the blind abbot.
“Tell me,” said the student, “How can one tell truth from falsity? How can one tell beauty from ugliness?”
The blind abbot did not stir but simply bowed their head.
The student, bemused, plucked a pebble from the ground. “Is this beautiful?”
The abbot simply shook his head.
The student, considered, scooped a flower from a nearby bush. “Is this beautiful?”
Again, the abbot shook their head.
The student, growing frustrated now, gathered some air into their hands. “Is this beautiful?”
Once more, the abbot shook their head.
At this, the student exclaimed, “What’s the point! You can’t even see!”
Finally, the abbot spoke. “First, you must ask.”
And the student understood.

The student did not see, then the student saw. What is the question? The abbot cannot see, and did not see. First, you must ask.

– Parable 179, with explanatory comments by Abbot Saburé (628)

In another time
Those wings shone on an alien world.
They were beautiful then, too.

Leaning in the wind,
The zenith draws near for shattering beauty.
Here, it holds.

A train ticket
Sails on the breath of its creator,
Transcending itself.

I call this beautiful
But is it the concrete or the calling
Which makes it beauty?