While God is everywhere and seeks day and night to give a fatherly embrace,
I was sitting there,
Practicing essential premises,
Establishing the premises as definitive practice,
Moving forward in a circle of boredom,
Blowing air into my own sails.
The more I advance, the more I get out of breath,
The more I advance, the less I advance,
I’m at a standstill, here, now
Hair and veils
Offered to the wind of the Spirit.
Notes & Silence 
In the circle of the eternal, everywhere is the centre. Therefore, how can one move?
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such a Zen statement, Simon.
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Have you read a translation of the Hannya Shingyo ?
J’aimeAimé par 1 personne
It was conceived with no thought of being Zen or otherwise. No, I have not read that. Is it worth a look?
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It might. It is extremely dense,
yet, empty.
this very short text is supposed to summarize all of the Prajna Paramita Sutra…if i remember correctly form my days spent in dojos.
It is very commonly recited my practitioners at the end of the session.
I think I like the sound of it more than its meaning which remains …I don’t know.
another classic poem which I like is this one…
I’m copying a version here, hope it will be visible.
______
Song of the Grass Roof Hut
~Shitou
I’ve built a grass hut where there’s nothing of value.
After eating, I relax and enjoy a nap.
When it was completed, fresh weeds appeared.
Now it’s been lived in—covered by weeds.
The person in the hut lives here calmly,
not stuck to inside, outside, or in-between.
Places worldly people live, he doesn’t live.
Realms worldly people love, he doesn’t love.
Though the hut is small, it includes the entire world.
In ten feet square, an old man illumines forms and their nature.
A Mahayana bodhisattva trusts without doubt.
The middling or lowly can’t help wondering;
Will this hut perish or not?
Perishable or not, the original master is present,
Not dwelling south or north, east or west.
Firmly based on steadiness, it can’t be surpassed.
A shining window below the green pines—
jade palaces or vermillion towers can’t compare with it.
Just sitting with head covered all things are at rest.
Thus, this mountain monk doesn’t understand at all.
Living here he no longer works to get free.
Who would proudly arrange seats, trying to entice guests?
Turn around the light to shine within, then just return.
The vast inconceivable source can’t be faced or turned away from.
Meet the ancestral teachers, be familiar with their instructions,
bind grasses to build a hut, and don’t give up.
Let go of hundreds of years and relax completely.
Open your hands and walk, innocent.
Thousands of words, myriad interpretations,
are only to free you from obstructions.
If you want to know the undying person in the hut,
don’t separate from this skin bag here and now.
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