Monday, April 22, 2024

 

     BIRD’S NEST

 

 

Lifetimes ago, in ancient T’ang,

I served as governor

(For poets could be rulers then)

And all was just and fair—

 

For I did balance art and life,

Creating such a tone

Throughout my district, that the law

And beauty were as one.

 

One day I strolled upon my rounds,

And saw that all was good.

Emerging from the mist, I stopped

Beside a tangled wood

 

And peered for birds amid the dense

Brocade of uncut trees,

When suddenly my eyes grew wide

To see what I did see!

 

A hermit monk had roosted in

The branches up above,

In such a nest of leaves and twigs

As only birds could love.

 

So anxious for an interview,

I stood beneath his shade

And cried, “Your seat is perilous,

And are you not afraid?”

 

“You seat is worse by far than mine,”

The recluse did reply;

To which I almost took offense,

Then thought to ask him why.

 

“I see no danger where I am,”

I said, “For I am he

Who rules here as the sages did

Before all history!”

 

“Then you don’t know yourself,” he smiled;

“For while your passions burn,

And mind is bobbing like a cork,

What safety have you earned?”

 

“What is the teaching, then,” I asked,

“Of which all Buddhas speak?”

For I had arguments prepared

Against my own defeat.

 

“To do no evil,” he replied,

“While practicing all good;

To keep the heart sincere and pure--

This speaks of Buddahood.”

 

I must confess I heard with scorn.

“Why, any three year old

Can parrot such a well-known verse!

Is only this your goal?”

 

“A three year old may know it well,”

He chirped, “But here I sit,

An eighty year old man, and find

It hard to practice it!”

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