Summer Grasses — All That Remains Of

When Your Consciousness Has Become Ripe In True Zazen-pure Like Clear Water, Like A Serene Mountain Lake, Not Moved By Any Wind-then Anything May Serve As A Medium For Realization.

Even In Kyoto/hearing The Cuckoo's Cry/i Long For Kyoto

Around Existence Twine, (oh, Bridge That Hangs Across The Gorge!) Ropes Of Twisted Vine.

Come, Butterfly It's Late- We've Miles To Go Together.

The Desire To Break The Silence With Constant Human Noise Is, I Believe, Precisely An Avoidance Of The Sacred Terror Of That Divine Encounter.