Showing posts with label Red Pine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Red Pine. Show all posts

Monday, July 4, 2022

fantasies fade only in stillness



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25
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I chose high cliffs far from town
the sound of tall grass a half-open gate
where's an old pauper who isn't deferential
or a rich man who isn't vain
emergency loans don't come without strings
fantasies fade only in stillness
clouds too say mountains are better
returning at night they ease the solitude
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27
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Who enters this gate and studies this teaching
has to be thorough and push to the end
empty the body and reason remains
forget the mind and the world disappears
cloud-covered trees form a landscape of white
swallowing the sun the mountain turns red
the flag moves or is it the wind
it isn't the wind or the flag
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28
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A friend of seclusion arrives at my gate 
we greet and pardon our lack of decorum
a white mane gathered in back
a monk's robe worn untied
embers of leaves at the end of the night
howl of a gibbon announcing the dawn
sitting on cushion wrapped in quilts
words forgotten finally we meet
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~ Stonehouse
from The Zen Works of Stonehouse
Poems and Talks of a 14th Century Chinese Hermit
translated by Red Pine
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Thursday, January 28, 2021

dark pines and strange rocks remain unknown to those who look for mind with mind



 
 
41
 
The ancients entered mountains in search of the Way
their daily practice revolved around their bodies
they tied heavy stones to their waists to hull rice
they carried their hoes in the rain to plant pines
it goes without saying they moved dirt and rocks
and never stopped hauling firewood and water
the slackers who wear a robe to get food
don't hang around an old Zen monk
 
42
 
Everything's growth depends on old roots
why argue about who's tall or short
the road to success is a tunnel of fire
the door to buddhahood is a wall of ice
my hut sits alone among brambles and weeds
the cloudy Isle of Penglai is a crane's universe
my hair has turned white in the cliffs and gorges
how often have I leaned on a fence rail till dark
 
43
 
I moved to the cliffs in order to practice
I didn't need others to judge my faults
when natures are simple old habits end
when thoughts are pure awareness arises
planting pines and weeding have strengthened my body
reading sutras and sewing have sharpened my sight
the world's anomalies are funny indeed
the refugees of Ch'in are called hermits too
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44
 
I searched creation without success 
by chance I found this forested peak
my thatched hut pokes through clouds and sky
the moss-slick trail cuts through bamboo
favor and shame arouse the ambitious
I grow old on the stillness of Zen
dark pines and strange rocks remain unknown
to those who look for mind with mind
 
 
 
 
~ Stonehouse
translated by Red Pine
art by Wang Chien
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note:

43.  In his Peach Blossom Spring, T'ao Yuan-ming tells the story of a group of people fleeing the oppressive rule of the Ch'in dynasty, which unified China in 221 BC.  In the course of their flight, these refugees discovered a hidden valley.  When a fisherman stumbled onto their sanctuary several hundred years later, he found a peaceful farming community.  Eventually the fisherman returned to his own village and told others about his discovery.  But the refugees obliterated the traces he left to mark his route, and their valley was never found again.
 
 
 
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Wednesday, June 17, 2020

below high cliffs - ten poems





1

Below high cliffs
I slash and I burn
there's vegetables and grain
to boil and steam
to satisfy the present
to brighten old age
looking at a tree in the yard
I count its falls and springs

2

Below high cliffs 
my companions are the ancients
having reached the source
here I rest
others of more mystic persuasion 
study koans to death
wait beside stumps for rabbits
notch boats to find lost swords

3

Below high cliffs
all day I see plants
no sign of people
yellow leaves in the wind
birds call at dusk from the valley
the mountain moon rises at night
a crane takes flight from a pine
and showers my robe with dew

4

Below high cliffs
tigers and snakes are my neighbors
once I forgot my mind
their natures suddenly became tame
people born in this world
all have something divine
mouths of teeth heads of hair
why can't they be kind

5

Below high cliffs
unaware of the source
wherever you turn is karma
chaos and confusion
in order to see the truth
look beyond your senses
it's always been this way
the spring flows all around you

6

Below high cliffs
serene in solitude
not visited by time
the mind creates the world
the window holds a setting moon
the stove contains a dying fire
pity the sleeping man
startled from his butterfly dream

7

Below high cliffs
a white-haired old man
his robe with no hem 
his pants with no lets
practicing zazen at night
working his fields by day
herein lies the Path
where else could it be

8

Below high cliffs
I face a thousand mountains
one sense finds the source
all six relax
white clouds drift
green water ripples
beyond movement and stillness
there's another world

9

Below high cliffs
I don't dress up by body
I eat roots and wear plants
my socks are hemp my shoes are sedge
dense bamboo shades my windows
thick moss covers the steps in front
desires die in the quiet
cares disappear it's so still

10

Below high cliffs
you eat and sleep your fill
indulge desire and lethargy
idle away the months and years
until old age and illness arrive
and a thousand pains afflict you
digging a well when you're thirsty
you endure heat in vain





~ Stonehouse
from: Book Two Gathas, "The Zen Works of Stonehouse"
by Red Pine
art by Huang Kung-wang
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Thursday, November 7, 2019

day after day I let things go


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33

Day after day I let things go
why worry about tomorrow today
the four afflictions are hard to predict
wealth and honor don't last
lakeside villas are swallowed by vines
streamside trails disappear into weeds
such things are easy for all to see
but no one is willing to look

34

A white-haired monk afflicted with age 
living under thatch year after year
I've exhausted my life on simple passions
my movements all spring from the sacred mind
when birds don't come the mountain is quiet
ten thousand pines keep it dark green
from the kalpa of nothingness it's clear
a miraculous light still shines.

35

What can you say about profit and fame
to a solitary untroubled mountain monk
weeds of delusion don't grow in the mind 
where flowers of wisdom bloom
bamboo shoots and fiddleheads blanket the slopes
dust seldom falls on moss-covered ground
I was over thirty when I first arrived
how many sunsets have turned my windows red

36

I was a Zen monk who didn't know Zen
so I chose the woods for the years I had left
a patched robe over my body
braided bamboo around my waist
mountain shade and stream light explain the Patriarch's meaning
flower smiles and bird songs reveal the hidden key
sometimes I sit on flat- topped rocks
cloudfree afternoons once a month



~ Stonehouse
translated by Red Pine
art by Huang Kung-wang (1269-1354)

Stonehouse was born in 1272 in the town of Changshu, not far from where the Yantze empties into the East China Sea.  He took his name from a cave at the edge of town.  The cave was on Yushan, which was named for Yu Chung-wei, whose nephew founded the Chou dynasty in North China around 1100 BC.  Yushan is also known for its pine trees, its rock formations, and its springs, in particular a spring that flows out of a cave as big as a house.  Locals call the cave Shihwutung, or "Stonehouse Cave."

from the introduction to "The Zen Works of Stonehouse"
by Red Pine (Bill Porter)


may as well let things go




29

A hundred years flash by
does anyone think this through
if what you're doing isn't clear
the edge between life and death is sheer
stitches on a monk's robe are a loving wife's tears
grains of sweet rice are an old farmer's fat
don't think charity has no reward
every seed bears fruit in time

30

Cares disappeared when I entered the mountains
serene at heart I let the world go
before my door the shade fades in fall
the spring roars in back after a rain
I offer tea and vegetables to a visiting farmer
to a neighbor monk I give chrysanthemums in a pot from town
the jaded life of the gentry
can't match a mountain monk's with scenes like these

31

This body's lifetime is like a bubble's
may as well let things go
plans and events seldom agree
who can step back doesn't worry
we blossom and fade like flowers
we gather and part like clouds
earthly thoughts I forgot long ago
withering away on a mountain peak

32

I've never treasured thoughts of success
I welcome old age and enjoy being free
grass shoes a bamboo staff the last month of spring
paper curtains plum blossoms daybreak dreams
eternal life and buddhahood are utter illusions
freedom from worry and care is the practice
last night the howling pine wind spoke
this is something the deaf can't hear




~ Stonehouse
translated by Red Pine
art by Huang Kung-wang a contemporary of 
Stonehouse who lived in the same area



Tuesday, August 31, 2010

The Way doesn't rise or fall



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19
The Way doesn't rise or fall
those who are blind look for an advantage
sages and wise men escape from this world
where counterfeit truth prevails
rein in your senses don't indulge them
be ever mindful and nothing else
lose your body beneath a patched robe
and say good-bye to a thousand rebirths
 
 
21
A life lasts one hundred years
but which of us gets them all
precarious as a teetering thatched hut
or a leaking boat in a storm
mediocre monks are pathetic
would-be masters are sadder still
the world's empty ways aren't what they were
some days I shut my old gate tight
 
 
22
Green mist red clouds a trail through bamboo
and a hut where quiet lasts
just let go and worries end
stop to think and the mind reappears
an unpolished mirror holds millions of shapes
a bell doesn't ring until it is rung
our original nature is the real buddha
nothing solid or empty nothing old or new
 
 
23
A monk in the wild sits quiet and relaxed 
he survives all year on what karma brings
bamboo and yellow flowers occupy his thoughts
white clouds and streams simplify his life
he doesn't mistake a rock for a tiger on a hill
or the image of a bow for a snake in a bowl
in the woods he knows nothing of the world's affairs
at sunset he watches the crows return
 
 
 
~ Stonehouse
from "The Zen Works of Stonehouse"
Book One: Mountain Poems
translated by Red Pine
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