Mountain home sleeping
No dreams of dust.
Three robes are plenty;
Who says I’m poor?
One for my pillow,
One to serve as a mat,
And at the thunder of my snoring
Heaven and Earth disappear.
Mountain home sleeping
No dreams of dust.
Three robes are plenty;
Who says I’m poor?
One for my pillow,
One to serve as a mat,
And at the thunder of my snoring
Heaven and Earth disappear.
Heaven is calm and
clear, earth is stable and peaceful.
Beings who lose these qualities die,
while those who emulate
them live.
Calm spaciousness is the
house of spiritual light;
open selflessness is the
abode of the Way.
translated by John S. Major & Sarah A. Queen
Turn the caldron
of your self upside down
and pour out what is inferior.
By purifying yourself of bad habits
and attitudes now you make
possible outstanding
achievements.
from The I Ching, or Book of Changes
Hexagram 50, Ting / The Caldron
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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 among the beggars clustered about Kyoto’s Gojo Bridge.
what you should know to be a poet
Enough of osseous and chickadee and sunflower
and snowshoes, maple and seeds, samara and shoot,
enough chiaroscuro, enough of thus and prophecy
and the stoic farmer and faith and our father and tis
of thee, enough of bosom and bud, skin and god
not forgetting and star bodies and frozen birds,
enough of the will to go on and not go on or how
a certain light does a certain thing, enough
of the kneeling and the rising and the looking
inward and the looking up, enough of the gun,
the drama, and the acquaintance’s suicide, the long-lost
letter on the dresser, enough of the longing and
the ego and the obliteration of ego, enough
of the mother and the child and the father and the child
and enough of the pointing to the world, weary
and desperate, enough of the brutal and the border,
enough of can you see me, can you hear me, enough
I am human, enough I am alone and I am desperate,
enough of the animal saving me, enough of the high
water, enough sorrow, enough of the air and its ease,
I am asking you to touch me.
24th Poet Laureate of the United States