(1394–1481)
ESSENTIALLY,
all previous lives and selves
are gone from nature—
without destination,
without place, without value.
[S.H.]
AT a way station,
returning from Drizzly Road
to Always Dry Road:
if it should rain, it will rain;
if the wind should blow, it blows.
[S.H.]
WITHOUT beginning,
utterly without end,
the mind is born
to struggles and distresses,
and dies—and that is emptiness.
[S.H.]
LIKE vanishing dew,
a passing apparition
or the sudden flash
of lightning—already gone—
thus should one regard one’s self.
[S.H.]
THE moon is a house
in which the mind is master.
Look very closely:
only impermanence lasts.
This floating world, too, will pass.
[S.H.]
AND what is mind
and how is it recognized?
It is clearly drawn
in sumi ink, the sound
of breezes drifting through pine.
[S.H.]
A Warning Against Dozing
PASSING an upturned carriage,
the driver’s suddenly awakened.
Surrendering to sleep invites disaster.
NEITHER drunk nor sober,
I wander out late:
A crow calls. The moon
sinks into the tolling of the midnight bell.
[S.H.]
Shakyamuni’s Austerities
SIX years of piercing cold and hunger!
Shakyamuni’s way demands austerity.
Anyone who thinks buddhahood is easy
is just a rice bag in a monk’s robe.
[S.H.]
Song of the Dream Garden
PILLOWED on your thighs in a dream garden,
little flower with its perfumed stamen,
singing, sipping from the stream of you—
Sunset. Moonlight. Our song continues.
[S.H.]
Face-to-Face with My Lover on Daitō’s Anniversary
MONKS recite the sutras in honor of the founder,
their many voices cacophonous in my ear.
Afterward, making love, our intimate whispers
mock the empty formal discipline of others.
[S.H.]
My Hand Is Lady Mori’s Hand
MY hand is Lady Mori’s hand
and knows her mastery of love.
When I am weak, she resurrects my jeweled stem.
The monks I train are happy then.
[S.H.]
Elegy
WE first lay down among flowers
ten years ago and found a timeless rapture.
Sadly, I remember being pillowed by her lap,
all-night love, all eternity in our vows.
[S.H.]