Sippāni dassessāma, lābhaṃ lacchāma, sotthinā caṇḍāla-vaṃsā orohissāma

Sippāni dassessāma, lābhaṃ lacchāma, sotthinā caṇḍāla-vaṃsā orohissāma

(We'll exhibit stunts, we'll receive income, safely we'll dismount the acrobat's pole!)

Tossing the one-year-old Bodhisattva back and forth with his teenage trainee, the old caṇḍāla acrobat spoke in a softly conspiratorial voice.

“This is just the first act, little boy. You will put on many costumes to please our public. Today you will excite their compassion as they imagine you crashing to the ground or shaking your spine. But we know that dukkha is the entire truth of the world. Right, Pataṅga?”

The teenager dutifully responded, “Who suffers is transient; yet suffering is perpetual.”

“One day, you will be the nimble child balancing atop the pole, and one day, you will be the muscular man supporting the pole on the hollow of his neck. The public will think you’re delicate when you have a girl’s name - Medakathālikā - frying pan of fat, but you’ll know better than to splatter on the man carrying you, because that will be your place one day. You must concentrate on the movements of the man beneath you, and trust him to concentrate on you.”

“Balancing up there is pure meditation,” Pataṅga remembered. “You’ll become aware of ākāsānañca - the sky’s infinity, and viññāṇānañca - infinite perception of every air current, every drop of sweat, and the shifting pole beneath you.”

Catching the boy from Pataṅga, the old acrobat held him up in the air. “Whether the public cries or laughs at your girlhood, let them put food on your plate. Remember, when we’re too old to put on shows by the roadside, the roadside is where we lie.”

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