I was out for my morning walk one day a year or so ago in my fairly conservative suburb, when I turned a corner onto a street I’d never been on, and found myself face to face with Shakyamuni. I got in the habit of turning that corner often, just to give him a little gassho and say good morning, and I never could figure out how he came to be there–the statue stands very near the end of the street, away from the houses, so it was impossible to tell who might have brought him there.
Anyway, one day last fall I passed by and found him completely covered with a heavy green plastic tarp. For protection from the elements? Because he offended someone? I never could figure it out.
But yesterday I walked that way and found that this particular Buddha of suburbia has found a friend:
Here’s a close-up:
You thought that thing in the bear’s hands paws was a honey pot, when all along it was a begging bowl.