Fresh moss covers
the stone bed;
how many springtimes
was it the Master’s?
His profile in meditation
has been sketched;
but the body of the meditator
has been burned.
Snow in the pines
has closed the pagoda courtyard;
dust settles in the lock
on the sutra library.
I chide myself
for these two tears —
a man who hasn’t grasped
the empty nature of all things.
Mourning the Death of Ch’an Master Po-Yen
from When I Find You Again It Will Be In Mountains – Selected Poems of Chia Tao
translated by Mike O’Connor
108zenbooks 
How I love to find something this grounding in my inbox in the morning. Thank you, and also for the example of your spontaneous ink pot art.
Good morning! It was fun to watch the ink do its thing without interference… other than keeping it from running onto the floor! 😆
“I chide myself [for]…not grasping the empty nature of all things.” Yes, I do – especially for not seeing it this week as I moved into and through some illness here….
I love these ink lid ensos that you have been doing this week. Something ethereal about them, as if they have actually created themselves… Beautiful…
I’m starting to really realize how much my “chiding” is part of the problem!
Been doing a truckload of chiding here myself… just part of the wonky wiring! 😉
I used to have a problem with chiding until I realized it was only gnidihc spelled backwards. Sorry … couldn’t help myself 🙂
AAeeeiiii… you’re never supposed to write that backwards. Now all our chiding will be cast in stone and it will be all your fault!
You Left-coasters! 😈
(A chiding is just a shindig spelled wrong!)