The Japanese Zen monk Hakuin (1685-1768)
has one of the most extreme descriptions of
the human conditions.
A black fire that burns with the obscure brilliance of a gem
dessicated the wide heaven and earth of their natural colour.
In the mirror of the mind one can see neither mountains nor rivers.
Billions of worlds in agony, all for nothing.
The last three words really mean: "without obtaining insight".
If this is not urgency ...
One can interpret leisure in two ways:
1. Wrong leisure: being lazy as a meditator etc.
2. Right leisure:
Sitting quietly, doing nothing.
Spring comes and the grass grows by itself.
(Basho, Zen monk, 1644-1694 )
(above taken from correspondence with Prof. Henk Barendregt in preparation of meditation Belgrade "Leisure and Urgency")
Poems for meditation (part II)
has one of the most extreme descriptions of
the human conditions.
A black fire that burns with the obscure brilliance of a gem
dessicated the wide heaven and earth of their natural colour.
In the mirror of the mind one can see neither mountains nor rivers.
Billions of worlds in agony, all for nothing.
The last three words really mean: "without obtaining insight".
If this is not urgency ...
One can interpret leisure in two ways:
1. Wrong leisure: being lazy as a meditator etc.
2. Right leisure:
Sitting quietly, doing nothing.
Spring comes and the grass grows by itself.
(Basho, Zen monk, 1644-1694 )
(above taken from correspondence with Prof. Henk Barendregt in preparation of meditation Belgrade "Leisure and Urgency")
Poems for meditation (part II)
(from David Holmes, in preparation of meditation Belgrade "Leisure and Urgency")
The Five Hyperlinks of Immortality
Art and allegory are the coded tongue most gifted to speak
Of the fragrance of green grass that delights the fire of ox desire.
Tummy yummy till one fine morning
Up springs the sicky-sweet chartreuse of who am I? What is this?
Drunk on high-octane effort-spirituality Mind wrestles with its Self and goes mad
Wild delirious wandering off into the wilderness.
In the fragrance of green grass, the click of the cicada: dit dit dit dah dah dah dit dit dit. S.O.S.
Yes! The nose of my ox must have my undivided attention.
But the nose of my ox is my undivided attention, the prow of the ship of consciousness.
My breath or the candle flame or the sacred syllable or the Lord's Prayer must stand in for the elusive pointedness of this mind chisel that decides the trajectory of all of that burdensome cargo of will and desire and aversion and indifference.
And so on...
And off.
... and on again...
till a small reed boat sidles up to the pier, and the fat man jumps ashore, entering the marketplace with bliss-bestowing hands.
There is no right way to do this, sensei. All roads lead to roam.
Dit dit dit dah dah dah dit dit dit.
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