Ikkyu Poem - to return
to the sky of our native place?
since the journey of life
is little but grief and pain,
why should we be so reluctant
to return to the sky of our native place?
to write something and leave it behind us,
it is but a dream.
when we awake we know
there is not even anyone to read it.
though we do not preach the doctrine,
unasked the flowers bloom in spring;
they fall and scatter,
they turn to dust.
we are born, we die.
all are the same,
shakamuni, daruma,
the cat and the ladle.
to harden into a buddha is wrong;
all the more i think so
when i look at a stone buddha. |