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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I was really tempted to go with Vera Hall’s Wild Ox Moan but this Tom Waits song is the one I’ve had in my head all week.
Despite the titles, the content of this one is more inline with working with the ox.
If Tom Waits is too rough for you, John Hammond Jr. does an excellent cover, here…
I don’t dare take my eyes off the ox for a single moment
The dust has just begun to settle
Still gripping the rope, it now hangs slack
Occasionally brushing the ground
The ox comes over and nudges my arm with its nose
I rub his forehead and scratch behind his ears
It’s time to move on
I loosen the knot from around the ox’s neck
He follows me by his own will
Before my eyes
His dark coat becomes white
The difference between an ox and a bull is that an ox has been castrated, producing a more docile creature.
Perhaps up until this point, we really were chasing a bull. But there still remains more cutting off to do…
Taming the Bull
One does not let go of the whip or the rope,
Afraid it will stray and choose the dusty mist.
A well-tended ox becomes gentle,
And even with no rope will follow people by himself.