TreeFrog & ChanPond

[Guest guest]

Apprehending the Creative in all,everything manifests asthe voice of

the Creative,the eyes and ears andtouch of the Creative, free asthe

thoughtless thought of the Creative --the mysterious child-like play

ofthe Creative.Contemplating the smallest creature,the most

anonymous, yellow leaf,no sentence need be planned,no artifice

constructed --so full of the Creative is everything!

~ Mazie & b, "The 300 Missing Poems of Han Shan

>From the heart aknife flung outward,piercing itself in every direction.

~ Mazie & b, "The 300 Missing Poems of Han Shan"

"...When Taifu Riku Ko and Nansen were talking one day,

Riku Ko said:

"The Dharma Master Jo Shu has said:

'Heaven-and-Earth and I have one and the same source:

the ten thousand things and I have one and the same body.'

Is that not extraordinary?"

As the sun rose, spattering dappled flashes oflight over the small

stream ripplinginto the farmer's water pond,a beautiful young

maidenappeared by the banks,disrobed, and proceeded toadorn herself

with the lotus blossomsnodding against her naked, shimmering

body.Like light leaping from the mirrorof the pond's surface in

whichshe was reflected, my desiremushroomed, reminding meof the

exquisite urgeof life for itself.In that moment,as I beheld the

innocentfeminine divinity of the maiden,a distant temple bell was

struck andI was stricken at the root --my beating heart rang

anddesire folded back intothe lotus budit lives in.The beauty of the

lotus will not surviveWinter's first hard freeze and yetsomething

within its death exhalesout beyond itself, a deathlessprayer to

Spring.My heart is afloat on that breath,wrapped in that prayer,

eternallydrifting, adorning mirroringsunlit surfaces, delightingJune

pond bathers with theintoxicating blossoms oftheir own desire.Oh,

this beautiful life!This beautiful life!~ Mazie & b, "The 300 Missing

Poems of Han Shan"

"...Pointing to a flower in the garden, Nansen said to the Taifu:

"When men of today look at this flower, it seems like a dream."

The poet Setcho wrote the following verse in

commentary upon Nansen's remark:

Hearing, seeing, understanding, knowing --Each of these is not

separate.For him, mountains and riversDo not appear in the

mirror.When the frosty heaven's moon has setAnd midnight nears,Whose

shadow with mineWill the clear pool reflect, cold?"

I set out late at night to converse with the onewho spreads the sky

table with a fresh cloth of dawn.Within each tear I shed for the

spread are athousand peacocks with no time to mourn.When they open

their mouths and cry to heaven,the night flies away on the wings of

dawn.Standing mid-stream in the river's caress,all names are washed

clean in the solvent of dawn.Before time began all the soldiers lay

dead,curled up in blue caskets on the altar of dawn.The blissful

serenity of the late-night campfireholds no torch to the blaze at

dawn.People in love with the fragrance of babieswill trade all their

stars for the bright kiss of dawn.I rise up to daybreak like a lover

of night,climb into star shoes and go out with the dawn.~ Mazie & b,

"The 300 Missing Poems of Han Shan"

"...Goso Hoen Zenji said:

"It's like a water buffalo's passing through a window-lattice. Its

head, horns, and four hooves have all passed through. Why can't its

tail pass through?"

I have been drunk foras long as I can recallbeing anything at all.I

stagger through thesedreamy realms calledyesterday, today, tomorrow

–night and daylight alternatingwithout notice or complaint.There is

no impedimentfor the mayflies swarmingaround my dizziness, drunk asI

am, drunk as they are on theintoxication of this mystery wine.You

might ask a question nowfor which I have no answer.Whoever I think I

am –whatever I thought I was --that is what disappears.It is not

happy,not sad.There is a fine line wherethe sky touches the ocean.It

appears to be a line.There really is no line.This doesn't belong to

anyone,it doesn't occur to anyone.This love floods out of

nowhere,sweeping the little leaves ofbelief and identity along in

acurrent of cool forgetfulness,a gentle drowning in the

swirlingfluidity of love's watery simplicity.One can stop pretending

to beother than what one is –this love,unconditioned

andunconditional.Lately all these costumesseem to slip off oftheir

own accord.Heart-pierced.Aimless.All is getting

done,mysteriously.Like melting snow in warmingSpring streams

swooning,the fascination with any destinydissolves in the flow

–gradually,timed to a perfectionbeyond mind's comprehension.In the

letting go, somethingapproaches a transparency.The flickering sense

of independence,the perfume of some separate self-sense,sifts, wafts,

and weaves within thefull embrace of awareness,of limitless space

–changing perpetually, inharmony with ordinary circumstance,white

clouds vanishing inan immensity of blue.The need for meaningdrops

away in the bliss ofremembrance, remembranceprior to the arising of

anything at all --of any being, bird, or blessedness.The search for

Tao is consumed bythe Tao that cannot be sought,cannot be found.Here

is wherewe always meet –alone in this silence.Here is wherethis love

is real.~ Mazie & b, "The 300 Missing Poems of Han Shan"

"...Big Shield once told me allmay be enlightened:serpent, stone, bell, moon, pine.

Imagine that!

Yet my question remains:"On what great daywill fear and hope finally die?"

"Back to work,"said Big Shield."Even the sun must climb Cold Peak."

Who works to be freewill never be free.

Raise two hands to your eyes.Show yourself your bonds.You see nothing.

Pity those bound by a whisper of wishes.

You are freeonly when you forgetyou are free."

~ Han Shan

Everything iscause for anything, andone with its effect.With each step

a fresh wind risesand I walk alone through the pink sky,every

direction home, every path the way.

~ Mazie & b, "The 300 Missing Poems of Han Shan"

In an afternoon of locust sounda red-tailed hawk alights uponthe gray

and greening walnut treeout in a meadow golden slowlyturning in a

blueness swirlingtree and hunter equally into thevast approaching

night, themoon-lace light, the star-spunnight of some delight

beyondthe ken of color, keenerthan an insects' teethupon a walnut's

leaves,green things windingmindlessly around themselvesfor comfort,

extending lifefor sake of life, unconcernedtheir flowers at the dawn

of daymay blossom into meals for preyingYamas sitting fat upon the

branchesof a tree with roots in that same soilthat anchors it beneath

a sky that knowsno light no dark no life no death no other wonder.

~ Mazie & b, "The 300 Missing Poems of Han Shan"

After the violent storm subsided,the trees that remained standingwere

left torn and mangled,the shock of destructionslowly giving way tothe

peace of a battlefield'saftermath now descending onthe wounded forest

grove.The quiet earth gently embracedthe blameless fallen, offering

itslush and fertile womb for a new gestation –chaos rearranging

itself without pause orregret, renewing itself in

kaleidoscopicpatterns of visible and invisible light, sinewystrands

of resilient lifeshine forming andreforming into fresh expressions

ofitself for the sake of itself, eloquentin luminous deathlessness.~

Mazie & b, "The 300 Missing Poems of Han Shan"

LoveAlways,

Mazie