Cool Water

…When I sat at Yokoji in Japan some years ago, there was a stream that rolled past the Sodo (Meditation Hall) to my left. It was fairly close to that end of the Sodo. In the mornings and the evenings when we sat, the water wasn’t particularly loud, but after the rain I could definitely hear it. At break times, at times when we were cleaning the road, it was a companion to me. And it does speak. It sings, and it speaks. That’s why “The riverbank talks of the Waters of March,” says Antonio Carlos Jobim (look it up and know delight). The Sweet Stream right outside the sodo speaks and sings. Sometimes it sings Aretha Franklin, cause you hear what you hear, and what I’m hearing is this, is “me.” And it tells me, “Listen, listen, listen…!” It rolls past like time, “Listen, listen, listen…” It rolls past, it rolls through. Its’s the blood in your veins. It rolls. It’s speaking, I’m speaking … I’m not separate from that stream. We sing.

Bodhisattva Practice is the cool water

That soothes the rug burn of delusion

Constantly dragging yourself

Across a false floor

Looking for satisfaction, comfort.

Sit up straight, get off your belly and your knees

 Breathe, clarify, clear the ground

And touch our floor, the earth of being.

Just breathe and be, nothing more

This is all.

 Clear water runs like time

Carving through layers of stone that I call self

 Manjusri’s sword cutting through

To the true nature of being.