Mr. Altig’s Overview of the Wonderful Dharma of the Lotus Sutra

For this occasion, the wise Mahakassapa shared this tale, a story in verse with details so rich and frail:

Struck with amazement, rapture, and wonder, we hear a voice so sweet,
A leader’s whisper, soothing and tender, unexpectedly we meet.
In just a brief moment, a treasure trove we’ve acquired,
A wealth unthought of, undesired, leaves us truly inspired.

It’s like a tale of a young man, led astray by foolish minds,
From his father’s love, he chose to run, leaving only tears behind.
The father searched with a heavy heart, his son lost to the years,
Fifty seasons passed him by, his path wet with salty tears.

He found a city grand and vast, built a home, found solace there,
Delights of the senses did amass, yet his heart was stripped bare.
Riches and gems, elephants and horses, all wealth that one could keep,
Servants, lands, a life of courses, yet his nights lacked sweet sleep.

Kings favored him, villagers revered, many a merchant sought his door,
But in the wealth and honor smeared, his heart yearned ever more.
His wealth grew vast, his honor high, his body bent and worn,
His thoughts stayed with the son awry, his heart forever torn.

‘Fifty years since my son did stray, I am rich but alone, my death near,
My wealth, my lands, my grand display, without my son, bring no cheer.’
The foolish son, in mean meantime, wanders in dire plight,
From village to village in rags and grime, in search of sustenance light.

Sometimes he begs and finds a meal, other times he goes without,
Lean and weak, his fate seems sealed, as hope begins to doubt.
His body marred by hardship’s touch, scabs and itch his constant kin,
Little did he know that much awaited him, in the father’s love within.

In travels far and wide, he returns, the son to his father’s land,
To his father’s grand abode he yearns, to beg with outstretched hand.
The rich man at his door does sit, on a throne held high above,
Surrounded by many, in wealth he’s knit, his heart yearning for his son’s love.

His trustees around him stand, counting gold and sealing deals,
The poor man sees the splendor so grand, and in his heart, he reels.
He thinks, ‘Is this a king’s estate? Am I out of my realm?’
Fearing a fate he cannot contemplate, he seeks to overwhelm.

He turns to flee, to the commoners’ street, to escape his rising dread,
But the father, his son so keen to meet, sends his men ahead.
The messengers catch him in their grip, and the poor man’s heart does sink,
He faints, thinking he’s in the executioner’s slip, ‘What need have I for food and drink?’

The father, seeing his son’s dismay, ponders on his plight,
‘He’ll not believe my wealth we may share, his fear is too great a fight.’
So he calls upon the low and rough, those who bear life’s hard scars,
‘To him, go, and offer work enough, amongst the feces and the tars.’

‘Offer him work, offer him wage, let him cleanse the unclean place,
And in return, double the average, the promise of a better space.’
Hearing this, the poor man complies, accepting the humble task,
Living in a hovel, under watchful eyes, in his father’s glory he basks.

Through the window, the father watches his son, his heart heavy with love and hurt,
He descends, dons rags, the pretense begun, to his son, he does assert.
‘Rebuking him first, ‘Thou dost not perform well!,’ then offering more for his feet,
Food, salt, potherbs, a cloak to quell, his offerings, bittersweet.

And then, with a whisper, he quietly states, ‘Thou art my son, in this I’m sure,’
In the poor man’s heart, hope resonates, the father’s love, pure.
Little by little, he brings him inside, employs him for two decades’ span,
In his father’s service, he takes in stride, growing confident in the man.

Gold, pearls, and crystal in the house lay, wealth the father counts each day,
Yet the poor man, outside in the clay, thinks, ‘Such riches are not my way!’
The rich man sees his son’s humble stance, his noble soul now seen,
He gathers his friends for a celebratory dance, and announces his decree.

‘This is my son, lost to time and space, for fifty long years and more,
In search of him, to this place I traced, and my joy, I cannot ignore.
‘All that I own, to him I bestow, my property, his hands shall hold,
My wealth, my riches, on him I bestow, for him to be brave and bold.’

The son in surprise, reflects on his past, his poverty, his strife,
Inheritance vast, he’s wealthy at last, ‘Now, I am a happy man in life.’
In a similar vein, the Leader divine, knowing our humble plight,
Says not ‘Buddhas, you shall be in time,’ but ‘My disciples, in my sight.’

The Lord of the world to us does urge, ‘Teach the superior path,
To those who towards enlightenment surge, leading to Buddha’s aftermath.’
Thus urged by the Sugata’s command, we show the way to many,
Mighty Bodhisattvas in our band, through countless proofs and any.

They hear our words, the Jina’s sons, and understand the road to light,
The path to enlightenment thus begun, they receive the Buddha’s foresight.
Such is the work we carry forth, the law-treasure we do share,
We reveal it to the Jina’s sons with worth, like the man with wealth to spare.

Though we share Buddha’s treasure wide, we still see ourselves as poor,
We seek not the Jina’s knowledge to guide, yet its truths, we still explore.
A separate Nirvana we envision, no further does our knowledge lie,
We hear not with joy, the divisions of Buddha fields in the sky.

Faultless are the laws, unbroken, undisturbed, with no start, no end,
But we struggle to understand the words, and their meanings comprehend.
Buddha’s superior knowledge, we’ve set aside, in the long ago past,
Never to it, have we applied, to Jina, this word was cast.

In this existence, Nirvana draws near, our thoughts on the void dwell,
Free from the triple world’s fear, the Jina’s command, we tell.
To the Jina’s sons on the path of light, to superior enlightenment’s door,
We reveal the law, with all our might, but favor it no more.

The Master of the world, the Self-born, waits, tests our disposition,
Does not expound on the connection of fates, in his wise omission.
Just as the rich man, at the right time, he gives his wealth to those,
Who’ve subdued their lowly incline, his knowledge, he bestows.

Challenging is the task he takes, taming his sons of lowly thought,
In his skillfulness, he makes, the imparting of his knowledge sought.
Suddenly surprised are we this day, as the poor man who found a prize,
Under Buddha’s rule, we find our way, faultless fruit in our eyes.

Always have we kept our morals strong, under the world Knower’s reign,
Now we reap the fruits of right from wrong, rewards for former strain.
Now we’ve received the purest fruit, from an excellent life, sincere,
Under the Leader’s rule and pursuit, holy and perfect, clear.

Disciples are we, O Lord, we’ll preach supreme enlightenment wide,
Reveal the cultural word, formidable disciples with pride.
Arhats we’ve become, O Lord, worthy of the world’s respect,
Gods, Maras, Brahmas’ accord, their worship, we now expect.

Who can thwart your complex plan, in this mortal world, who can?
Even if, through eons’ span, tried every grain of sand in man.
Gifts of food and drink given freely, places to sleep and rest,
Monasteries of sandalwood, beautifully dressed, at your behest.

Medicines for the sick, in Sugata’s honor, shared,
Even if the alms tick, as grains of sand, compared, none dared.
Your nature sublime, unequaled power and strength,
In patience’s time, the Buddha goes to any length.

A great ruler, the Jina, free from imperfections and deceit,
The ignorant cannot comprehend such feats; too great to meet.
Always returning, preaching law, to those conditioned by life’s course,
World’s great Lord, the law’s jaw, among world leaders, he’s the source.

Fully aware of all beings’ state, he indicates their varied role,
Considering their diverse fate, with thousands of arguments, he consoles.
Tathagata, fully aware of all beings’ individual tracks,
Preaches a multifarious law, pointing to superior facts.