Stealing Buddha

I was out driving one afternoon when I came across a concrete sculpture garden, the kind of place that pops up unexpectedly on the sides of dusty roads here in the Inland Empire. The kind of place you never stop for.
It wasn't the kind of place you would look for a Buddha, but I found one amidst the St. Francis statues and tiled bird baths. It was a well tarnished boddhisatva, about two feet high, and smiling just the way a Buddha should. I payed for him with my visa, had the guy help me get him into the car, (Buddha was heavy!) seat belted him in, and took off for home. I was planning on years of enjoyment from my Buddha, and the instant gratification of sped up enlightnement was filling my heart with all sorts of happiness.
When I got home, he was so heavy I couldn't get him into the yard, so I left him in the driveway, just for the night I thought.
Big mistake.
The next morning I realized I had tested the universe. Someone had stolen my Buddha. How could this be? I'm sure stealing a Buddha is on par with stealing an Amercican Flag, robbing a church, tipping cows, or any other various sacreligious acts. But it happened. I asked a neighborhood friend, a monk in regular clothes, what I should do and if this stolen Buddha was just an icon, it wasn't the Buddha, right?
Monk friend said: "I don't know."
I struggled as my friend told me that I hadn't bought the Buddha for myself, but rather, I had bought it for someone who needed it more then me.
That's a tough one to wrap you mind around, but isn't Buddhism, my friend reminded me, about objectified notions of reality? About not placing material value on any one thing; the impermanance of nature being more substantial evidence of a 'supreme being.'
Hmmmm. There is a definite bonus to understanding impermanance. You can't buy the Buddha with a visa card, who was I kidding? Besides, the interest rate on a Buddha would be out of this world.
I understand a little better now.
But right now, with the forest singed behind my home, the impermanance of nature glaring at me from below the ashes, and all kinds of emotions welling up inside of me, I kinda wish I had my Buddha back.

Helicopters in My Trees

Today starts day 9 of mandatory evacuation in Running Springs. How we got back up here before everybody else is a story best left for a campfire (contained), or a pool party. I just got done talking with firefighters (nice young men) patrolling my charred backyard. They're down there putting out hotspots and listening on their radios for comands from the zooming helicopters that have been circling our neighborhood for the last week. The first day back I was alarmed at the sound of helicopters so close, hovering at eye level about 200 feet (maybe?) away from my now singed back deck. Helicopter noise always sounds trouble; escaped convicts, car chases, train wrecks, and forest fires.
I've had 'copters in my dreams for at least the last four nights, but never in a 'James Bond' kind of way, sweeping me and my ball gown from atop some swanky high rise in Monacco. The helicopters in my dreams are more like the ones outside using infared technology to spot fires still hot enough to detect. Then they make a computer generated map showing the neighborhoods (in this case Running Springs, Live Oak area) that still need 'attention.' Then they pass the maps out to the fire scouts, (the nice young men in my backyard). The code name for my neighborhood is "Julia" as in: "Julia is looking good" or "Julia needs immediate attention."
If I just remember that the loud buzzing sound of helicopters, that even my hyper sensitive dog is now used to, indicates that there is a strong fire protection squad in total command of the situation, then maybe I can relax, just a little. And for that sense of calm that I am hoping returns very soon, for that reason I should be thankful for the helicopters in my trees.