such a lovely image
when i am able to conjure this at will
hallelujah! and peace
sweet flowing water
Do you know how to let the
mountain stream cleanse your mind?
Every thought is pulled out along the smooth,
polished stones, disappearing
downstream in the frothy current.
The mind keeps on making more thoughts
until it sees that they are
all being carried away downstream;
until it realizes that they
are all vanishing,
dissolving into an unseen point.
Then it won’t bother for awhile.
A dense cloud,
spreading over everywhere
covering the whole
great-thousandfold world,
pours down its rain
equally at the same time.
From the rain of one cloud
each according to the nature
of its kind acquires its development,
opening its blossoms and bearing its fruit.
Though produced in one soil
and moistened by the same rain,
see how different
are all these plants and trees.
Lu-men moonlight spills through misty trees,
and I come again to the old hermitage.
The path leads through pines,
to the brushwork door
back again to solitude and silence.
Where a hermit lives,
there’s no need for companions.
At the hall of the Buddha image,
I look over the crimson ravine;
The incense terrace is shrouded in halcyon auroras.
Now roosting, now flying,
I embrace an imaginary bird;
Now treading, now tramping,
It rains flowers from the void.
The precious bells sway in the emergent sunshine;
The golden pool glistens on dusk’s sands.
Do not be distraught at the remoteness of the road back;
Beyond the gates there are three types of carriages.
In samsara, which is like a dream and an illusion,
Sentient beings roam like blind lunatics.
Not realizing the truth that confused
Appearances have no essence,
Those who cling to the false as true get so exhausted.
Kingfisher gorges and cinnabar cliffs
Surround my hut’s four walls
A cloth robe keeps me warm
Thought fades away I forget the date
Rushes grow thin where the soil is rocky
Bamboo shoots grow long where it’s deep
Sometimes at midnight I hear a bell
And know there’s a temple below
The wise find pleasure in water;
The virtuous find pleasure in hills.
The wise are active; the virtuous are tranquil
The wise are joyful; the virtuous are long lived.
The Path of enlightenment
Cannot be charted or measured:
Highest of the high,
Vast beyond limit,
Deepest of the deep,
Profound beyond fathoming,
Big enough to contain
Heaven and earth,
Small enough to enter
An infinitesimal point,
Thus it is called the Path
The clouds of sunset
Gather in the western sky,
And over the silent silvery Han
Rises a white jade moon.
Not often does life
Bring such beauty.
Where shall I see the moon
Next year?
When one truly dies and leaves his own body, he can go freely wherever he likes.
In the midst of profound darkness or when the doors and windows are shut,
one enters a state of freedom.
The body is like a dream.
When we see this and awaken,
not a trace remains.
Messenger
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
~Mary Oliver
...
15 Apr '23 12:55
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