Sunday, December 25, 2005

Smoke rises

Smoke rises
river flows.

Sitting alone
where people once met and smiled
and considered things
hardly to be guessed at now.

Logs crackle.

Shadows still standing between darkness and light
and in the flickering
shifting the soul back to another place.

Where is my life?
Wither does it go?
I sit alone in my hut and meditate quietly.
With all my thinking I know nowhere...
Such is my present
eternally changing, all in emptiness.

Ryokan (1758-1831) Zen monk.

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