Posts Tagged → mind

a treasure hidden inside

this magnificent heart

 

Do not go

about worshipping

deities and religious institutions

as the source of the subtle truth.

To do so is to place intermediaries

between yourself and the divine,

and to make of yourself a beggar

who looks outside for a treasure

that is hidden inside his

own breast.

 

If you want to worship the Tao,

first discover it in your own heart.

Then your worship will be meaningful.
 

Hua hu Ching, Chapter 17

 

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practice without any gaining idea

the gate of suzuki

 

We say

to practice zazen

without any gaining idea,

without any purpose. Let things work

as they do, supporting everything as your own.

Real practice has orientation or direction, but it has

no purpose or gaining idea, so  it can include everything

that comes. Whether it is good or bad doesn’t matter.

If something bad comes: “Okay, you are a part

of me;” and if something good comes,

“Oh, okay.” Because we don’t have

any special goal or purpose

of practice, it doesn’t

matter what

comes.

 

Shunryu Suzuki

 

after we resume our original nature

papaji

 

When the water returns

to its original oneness with the river,

it no longer has any individual feeling to

it; it resumes its own nature, and finds

composure. How very glad the

water must be to come

back to the original

river!

 

If this is so,

what feeling will we have

when we die? I think we are like the water

in the dipper. We will have composure then, perfect

composure. It may be too perfect for us, just now, because

we are so much attached to our own feeling, to our

individual existence. For us, just now, we have

some fear of death, but after we resume

our true original nature,

there is Nirvana.

 

Shunryu Suzuki

zen mind, beginner’s mind

try to praise the mutilated world

travel light

 

Try

to praise

the mutilated world.


Remember June’s long days,


and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.


The nettles that methodically overgrow


the abandoned homesteads

of exiles.


 

You

must praise

the mutilated world.


You watched the stylish yachts

and ships;
 one of them had a long trip

ahead of it,
 while salty oblivion awaited others.


You’ve seen the refugees going nowhere,


you’ve heard the executioners

sing joyfully.


 

You

should praise

the mutilated world.


Remember the moments when

we were together 
in a white room and

the curtain fluttered.
 Return in thought to

the concert where music flared.
You

gathered acorns in the park in

autumn 
and leaves eddied

over the earth’s

scars.


 

Praise

the mutilated world


and the gray feather a thrush lost,


and the gentle light that strays

and vanishes
 and

returns.

 

Adam Zagajewski