Like an instinct hushed under the everyday,
It leaves you as simply as anything is glimpsed,
Not as reductive as pulling one fractured
Suggestion from any other, or the eye
We take as an instrument, its gradual decoding
Amounting to guesswork; head out, intrigued,
To the re-reading of an upturned mirror,
Where the stones mark the shore
In their stoic poise, allowing you to fathom
Their cool firmness, the tide beating and always
Without motive; be mindful that this cannot outlive you,
The water and the light returning you whole.
Studying Zen should not be confused with practicing Zen, like studying aesthetics should not be confused with being an artist.
When you are deluded and full of doubt, even a thousand books of scripture are not enough. When you have realized understanding, even one word is too much.
It has been said that if you could become another person for even a few moments, you would probably become enlightened. So strong is our attachment to the idea of who we are that even the smallest jolt out of it can have an immense effect.
Four things come not back: the spoken word, the spent arrow, the past life, and the neglected opportunity.