Walking slowly through the Hozomon Gate
Senso-ji lies before me, as if to say this
is your home in Tokyo, you are welcome here.
I pause to take a photograph and realize that
to the Japanese here I am one more gaijin
although I do not carry the shopping bags
that most do from their fascination with
the stalls that crowd the Nakamise-dori.
I know Kannon is here and she cares not
where I may come from, for she knows
she is also Guanyin and Avalokiteshvara,
and her compassion is boundless and
always freely offered to any who are in need.
Approaching the Buddha hall, I bow
knowing prostrations would cause a scene
for gaijin should know nothing of practice.
Some pause briefly to stare at me, and
hands in gassho I acknowledge them
under Buddha’s watchful smile for he
too, he knows, is gaijin here where
India and China have come to rest.