moving to Blogger

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I’ve finally had enough of the ads WordPress sticks to the bottom of my posts, so I’m moving to:

http://somewhereindhamma.blogspot.com/

I’ve been considering it for a while, but was too attached to three years of stats to let go. In the end, the reader’s experience is the most important thing, so I’m doing it…

Apologies to all those who will have to edit links and stuff.

十 In the World

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The lotus blooms, delighting to look at and smell
But when the pedals wilt and fall, the pod begins its work

How many ages of suffering
Does the moment of a child’s smile cut through?

Seeds drop back to the pond

Because I suffer, I know the suffering of others.

Because I am happy, I want to share it with you.

Maybe there will never be an end to the suffering in this world, but that’s why it’s so important to try.

In the World

He enters the city barefoot, with chest exposed.
Covered in dust and ashes, smiling broadly.
No need for the magic powers of the gods and immortals,
Just let the dead tree bloom again.

九 Reaching the Source

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Long and strenuous was the journey
Untying the measureless thread

What good is this bundle of senses
If used only to fabricate experience

The stone steps are cold against bare feet
The spring rain is wet on my face

Pink and white pedals fluttering gently to the ground

Come and see!

Asleep with eyes open, we see the world but filtered through a dream.

Until full awakening, and we are able to perceive things just as they are.

Then wouldn’t you want to ring the bell for others to wake up, too?

Reaching the Source

In returning to the fundamentals and going back to the source,
I had to work so hard.
Perhaps it would have been better to be blind and deaf.
Being in the hut, I do not see what is outside.
The river flowing tranquilly,
The flower simply being red.

八 Both Ox and Self Transcended

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Footprints, hoofprints…
Both will fade
Only slightly ahead of those who left them

In turn, so will the echoes of the canon

Held in the breath
Is the path to the old monk in the Western Heaven

This stage of the Ox Herding intimidated me before I even began.

How much of my understanding is merely conceptual, intellectual? But if this is my root, my source, am I not experiencing it in each moment?

Only, at what depth?

I’m looking at this now asking, “Did I just write that?” (I can’t say I’m over myself just yet!)

Even understanding seems transient!

(In case you’re wondering, the spelling “canon” isn’t a typo, but you have a right to wonder, I make many! And the old monk in the Western Heaven is taken from Wuxue Zuyuan’s poem.)

Both Bull and Self Transcended

Whip, rope, man, and ox,
All are non-existent.
The blue sky being vast,
No message can be heard,
Just as the snowflake cannot last
In the flaming red furnace.
After this state,
One can join the ancient teachers.

七 The Ox Transcended

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Empty cup on the table
Empty stall in the barn
Sunlight melts the dew

Old rope looped around the plum-tree

No need for an ox here, no field left to till.

Just the slight reminder of the ox, hanging from the tree.

He could sit there all day just looking out the window but what would be the use?

The Bull Transcended


Riding the ox, he has come home.
There is no ox there, and he is at ease.
Although the sun is high, he is still dreamy,
The whip and rope abandoned in the thatched hut.

六 Riding the Ox Home

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Returning home at last
Piously, I sit  on the ox’s shoulders

Every leaf and every twig greet us
With their inherent melody as we pass

I take a bamboo flute from my cloth bag
And play a tune in the key of “Om”

A cup of tea will be nice

Before I saying anything, I should point out that, as far as I’m aware, my personal practice is still struggling with the ox (somewhere between steps 4 and 5). I shouldn’t really be touching these at all, except I know that the meaning behind them is present in my inherent being. Perhaps if I listen very carefully, the right words will come to me…

So, from an experiential point of view, this is where the Ox Herding series gets really difficult, but at the same time, this is also where it gets profoundly simple.

Thoughts begin to fade, life starts flowing in tune. I’ve known days like these, before.

Yet, there are still two travelers. What is it that separates them?

If this were me on the ox, I’d probably be on my way to the tea house to show off the ox “I” was riding!

Riding the Bull Home

Riding the bull, I leisurely wander toward home.
Exotic flute melodies echo through sunset clouds,
Each beat and each tune indescribably profound.
No words are needed for those who understand music.