On the Things of This World
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| (Peddler's truck - 1930's - found here) |
wanders from town to town
with a pack of priceless
trinkets on his back.
He can tell by just looking
in a person’s eyes
what lusts and desires
lie crouched in the heart—
whether jewelry or carvings,
fine fabrics or books.
He can see at a glance
all he needs to know.
“Care to buy this ruby?” he says.
“See how it sparkles?”
“How much?” you ask
as he wades into your eyes.
“The price,” he says, “is but
another ruby like itself,
of exactly the same size
and shape.” He smiles.
“But there’s no other ruby
like this,” you say. “Are you mad?”
“Then here’s what
we’ll do,” he says. “I will
make you a gift of this one
in advance of payment,
so then you will have a ruby
with which to pay. Yes?
Then I will leave this village
for a year—or a day—
and when I return you will
pay me in full. Agreed?”
So what am I saying? Just this:
the price of anything
in this world—is it not
the surrendering of itself at last?
And who even asks
the price of our desires
when the mad old peddler
is due back any day?
~Robert Hudson (from The Father Zosima Poems)
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