Sunday, August 17, 2008

Over There

A road to the mountains over there . . .

Kept from the garden for being self -- once one, now each
off to seek a god

A place high above the ridges to see bright ice cut by sharp-black arete

Patterns shifting like stormy rain on quiet water

Fore to front, front to fore -- pulsing
Not words exactly but a message

Black to white, void to life, time and now


An easy koan

Thanks Polona for the wonderful