Homesick Buddha Blues (Psalm 22 Authorized remix)

In the middle of the night I get up to pray
for my enemies have encircled me
and each one wears my name and face
and sleep’s ignorant bliss eludes me

I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint:
My heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels

With my prayer duvet pulled around my shoulders
through snot and tears I implore
all Buddhas of the past, present and future
to end this endless war

My strength is dried up like a potsherd;
and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws;
And thou hast brought me into the dust of death

I leave the house as quietly as a ghost
and enter the damp street-lamp-lit dark

Not long past day-break, by Iffley lock
you come up behind me
in your saffron jogging robes
and ask me how I’m doing

Throwing English pleasantries to the autumn breeze
I explain that I am lost and raw and looking for
the Buddha’s lap on which to rest my weary head

In fact, I’d happily climb back inside the womb
and refuse to come out to this, Samsara

You pause

Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog.
Save me from the lion’s mouth: for thou hast heard me from the horns of the unicorns

and then you smile

“Perhaps this,” you say
pointing first to the rising sun and then to the setting moon
to the earth beneath us and to the river beside us
“Perhaps all of this is the Buddha’s lap.
And the Buddha's womb.”

With a friendly nod you bid farewell
and continue jogging along your middle path
leaving me to my own devices
by the gently flowing Isis

The meek shall eat and be satisfied:
they shall praise the LORD that seek him:
your heart shall live for ever

And quietly it dawns upon me
and my tired and battled mind
through gritty tears of gratitude
that you’ve left your smile behind