The Buddha of Greenleaf Street

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When the time came to release him, he didn’t run away in fear. He looked at me, chattered a sound that was not quite human and not quite animal — a sound that meant goodbye. I visited him through the seasons, bringing nuts for him and his companions. In winter he would dart from the branches, always waiting, as if to remind me that love doesn’t vanish when form changes.

After ten months he disappeared into the wide green world. That too was a farewell, quiet and complete. It has been two years now. I still visit the squirrels. I still bring offerings. I still think of Matisse every day.

He was my teacher, the Buddha of Greenleaf Street. Through him I learned Dharma without sutra, compassion without doctrine, and courage without ceremony. He taught me impermanence not as sorrow, but as participation — that to love anything truly is to let it go again and again, without closing the heart.

Sometimes, when the wind stirs the leaves or a squirrel pauses to meet my gaze, I feel him near. And I remember: the Buddha is never elsewhere. He is wherever love and awareness meet, for even a moment, in the fragile, fearless world we share.


The Buddha of Greenleaf Street

(A Spoken Meditation)

Once, there was a small being —
a baby squirrel who fell from his drey.

He was no bigger than my hands,
his eyes wide with a world newly begun.

I named him Matisse.

For seven weeks we shared a rhythm —
feeding, warmth, the quiet pulse of life.
He learned to climb again.
I learned to soften again.

When it was time to release him,
he did not flee.
He looked back —
and spoke in the way only hearts understand.
A sound, not quite human, not quite animal —
a sound that meant: goodbye.

Through summer and into winter,
I visited him each day,
bringing nuts to him and his companions.
The air was cold,
but presence was warm.

Then one day,
after ten months,
he was gone.
No tragedy, no trace —
only departure,
complete and unspoken.

Two years have passed.
I still visit the squirrels.
I still bring offerings.
And I still think of Matisse —
the Buddha who lived on Greenleaf Street.

From him I learned Dharma without words,
compassion without doctrine,
and courage without show.

He taught me impermanence not as sorrow,
but as participation —
that to love anything truly
is to let it go
without closing the heart.

Now, when the wind moves the leaves,
or a squirrel pauses and meets my gaze,
I remember:

The Buddha is never elsewhere.
He is wherever love and awareness meet —
for even a single moment —
in this fragile, fearless world we share.

Homage to the Buddha of Greenleaf Street.

Homage to all teachers with fur, with wings, with eyes that see without judgment.
Homage to the small and silent who show us the great and wordless.

Longchenpa again reminds us: “Activity free from effort is the natural display of realization.”

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