clouds very high look
not one word helped them get up there
It has no bridge,
yet the cloud climbs up
to heaven; it does not seek
the aid of Gautama’s
sutras.
Studying texts
and stiff meditation can
make you lose your Original Mind.
A solitary tune by a fisherman, though,
can be an invaluable treasure. Dusk rain
on the river, the moon peeking in and
out of the clouds; elegant beyond
words, he chants his songs
night after night.
A master’s
handiwork cannot
be measured but still priests wag
their tongues explaining the “Way” and
babbling about “Zen.” This old monk has
never cared for false piety and my
nose wrinkles at the dark smell
of incense before the
Buddha.
Crazy Cloud
speaks of Daito’s unsurpassed
brilliance but the clatter of royal carriages
about the temple gates drowns him out and no
one listens to tales of the Patriarch’s long
years of hunger and homelessness
beneath Gojo
Bridge.
In order to deepen his Zen understanding, Daito Kokushi (also known as Shuho Myocho, 1281-1338), the founder of Daitoku-ji, passed a number of years hiding out amoung the beggars clustered about Kyoto’s Gojo Bridge.
Every day priests
minutely examine the dharma
and endlessly chant complicated sutras.
They should learn to read the love letters
sent by the wind and rain, the
snow and moon.