Zen poetry

~ Zen Poetry ~

What does it mean?
How can we tell?
It is what it is.
All perfectly well.

Originally Posted by The Cobbler's Apprentice

I do not equate "unshakeable deliverance of mind" (which according to the Majjhima Nikaya is the Heartwood of the Dharma) with "supreme peace" as such.

Remember that old song....You say Potato, I say Patato...or was it Tomato, Tamato?

Majjhima Nikaya ~ Ākaṅkheyya Sutta (MN 6)

"who is committed to inner tranquility of awareness"

inner tranquility of awareness = supreme peace?

tranquility definition - free from agitation of mind or spirit. free from conflict.

peace definition - freedom from disturbance; tranquility. free from war or conflict

Free from conflict between what is and how we wish it to be.
It is as it is - suchness "Speaking words of wisdom, let it be." The Beatles.

Originally Posted by Miss Hepburn

Ah, the need arises to respond.
There is no one there
That does not already know.

There's no one there.
He often thinks, I am.
Sometimes he remembers.

[The Cobbler's Apprentice]

Originally Posted by AbodhiSky

Remember that old song....You say Potato....

There are a lot of old songs.

This might seem like going off on a tangent, but it is much like Saichi's "Gratitude is all a lie, there is nothing the matter with one". I know what he means.......I don't wish it to be explained. But I express gratitude each and every day.

I am just uncomfortable with talk of "bliss" and "inner peace", of being "one" with the "all" etc etc.......almost totally undisturbed, apparently, by what is undoubtedly all around us in a certain sense. I obviously talk of this world and its suffering.

I get it. There is no need to explain anything. I too have read the books.

"Love has no why"......a favorite quote. But for me, now, I will not retire. You can jump off of the raft too soon. And all is lost.

Originally Posted by The Cobbler's Apprentice

I too have read the books.

And so it begins.
Thoughts arise,
Illusions of what may be,
Endlessly until one reaches the destination,
the deathless arises.

[The Cobbler's Apprentice]

Originally Posted by Eelco

the deathless arises.

Yes. And we must be sure it is the deathless and not some sort of pseudo evolved transcendence of personal pain.

Way back, on another forum, I asked the simple question:- "In what sense does suffering end". At the time I had been delving into various psychological investigations and testings of some long term meditators that revealed (as far as the tests were concerned) that many still had unresolved personal conflicts that they were unaware of.

I hesitate to repeat another story, but it is the one of the zen master who, hearing cries of lamentation coming from a house over the death of a loved one, went in and joined in. A novice passed by and was shocked by the master apparently joining in with the grief. "You of all people I would have thought would be above this sort of thing" to which the master replied, between his sobs, "It is this that puts me beyond it."

Another day, another sausage.
~Frank Zappa~

Originally Posted by The Cobbler's Apprentice

At the time I had been delving into various psychological investigations and testings of some long term meditators that revealed (as far as the tests were concerned) that many still had unresolved personal conflicts that they were unaware of.

There's a wonderful book by Jack Kornfield called "After the ecstasy, the laundry". That goes into exactly that.
I know you are just talking to yourself, but from what I understand the arising of the deathless and seemingly unskillful acts regarding day-to-day life are separate things. They aren't mutually exclusive. Our delusions around what we believe enlightenment to be, only make it appear as such. Now let's get back to Zen Poetry.

First days of spring -- the sky
by Ryokan

English version by Stephen Mitchell
Original Language Japanese

First days of spring -- the sky
is bright blue, the sun huge and warm.
Everything's turning green.
Carrying my monk's bowl, I walk to the village
to beg for my daily meal.
The children spot me at the temple gate
and happily crowd around,
dragging to my arms till I stop.
I put my bowl on a white rock,
hang my bag on a branch.
First we braid grasses and play tug-of-war,
then we take turns singing and keeping a kick-ball in the air:
I kick the ball and they sing, they kick and I sing.
Time is forgotten, the hours fly.
People passing by point at me and laugh:
"Why are you acting like such a fool?"
I nod my head and don't answer.
I could say something, but why?
Do you want to know what's in my heart?
From the beginning of time: just this! just this!

[The Cobbler's Apprentice]

Even in Kyoto
Hearing the cuckoo's cry
I long for Kyoto



Sweet springtime showers
And no words can express
How sad it all is