On Saturday, March 24th, the Portsmouth Buddhist Center community came together to support and celebrate the mitra ceremonies of Sarah Flause and Chongson Scotts. Sangha members from Boston, Maine, New Hampshire and New York (well, New Jersey actually!) were among those gathered as well as family and friends of Sarah and Chong.

Thank you to Lona & Maryellen for bringing the flowers, and to Danakamala for creating the shrine. The colors all came together so beautifully! Thank you also to everyone who helped with arranging food and tea and welcoming guests. The three jeweled cupcakes were amazing!

Suddhayu led the ceremony around a 3-fold puja with a reading from the Therigatha, a collection of poems written by early Buddhist nuns. Chongson and Sarah were each invited to read a poem that spoke to their spiritual journey and practice. Chongson read a poem by Mary Oliver and Sarah shared a poem written by her brother (copied below).

Chong and Sarah asked how they could share their appreciation, and offer these words:

Dear Ordained members, Mitras and Friends, 
 
We have been reflecting on our Mitra ceremony for a few days now and we are both still feeling amazed and humbled by it.  How does one express a deep gratitude to so many people who have come together to create something so wonderful for us...we can only tell you that we will always cherish our special day.  Please accept our sincere gratitude and thanks.  You have truly touched our hearts.  
 
With Metta, 
Chongson and Sarah
 

Thank you to everyone who helped make this event possible.

To learn more about becoming a mitra in Triratna, visit Triratna - Becoming A Friend

All are welcome to join us at Portsmouth Buddhist Center on Sundays for our weekly Sangha Gathering.

The Gardener by Mary Oliver
Have I lived enough?
Have I loved enough?
Have I considered Right Action enough,
Have I come to any conclusion...
Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?
Have I endured loneliness with grace?
I say this, or perhaps I'm just thinking it...
Actually, I probably think too much.
Then I step out into the Garden,
Where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,
is tending his children, the roses....

THE LAUGHING BOY 
by Jon Brillhart
 
The laughing boy, he laughed so hard
The dust was dancing in the yard.
Wind, seeing the dancing dust at play,
Blew with a will and blew all day.
The rain joined in with such a gust
It took the boy, and all the dust.
The dust returned upon the lane
The boy was never seen again.
 
A man came back soon after that
With oiled boots and rubber hat.
He built four walls with roof of tin
So blustery wind would bruise its shin.
He built four walls with roof of tin
So drumming rain could not get in.
He heaped the dust into a row
For only thus the corn would grow
And then he used the heedless rain
And got a bin filled up with grain.
And so he lived for quite a while,
He, a wife and little child.
 
Time is just another wind,
And wears down walls and roof of tin.
The wind of time (the law of must)
Returns the works of man to dust.
The dancing wind has caught the rain,
A boy is in the lane again.