For Shifu
A Disciple's Rest Is with the Fa
Dawning close, the hour draws nigh
Let not the pen held hand go slack,
Nor the parchment, wet, let dry
Not one opportunity let miss,
May not one soul slip by
A disciple hath no rest at all,
Indeed no rest have I
Save not until, until the Fa, be rectified
Emotion's Winter Pales to Compassion's Spring
O the truth did thrill the day,
When upon me a pall did heavy weigh
Through the knoll and over the hill did run,
Ere I might be found betwixt the mid-day sun
But of a truth did find no more,
The magic gone, the thrill a bore
Caught in the shade, emotion lying there...
Yet rising one must find compassion sweet, a wiser fare
And there did leave my emotions bare,
To bake the sun in its heat, a mighty glare
And there again was found no more,
A disciple now and forever more
The Other Shore
Having glimpsed the other side,
One sees his life was selfish, wanton, filled with pride
Some say one can describe as one describes the evening tide,
But words they cannot grasp it, neither whole, nor part, nor side
Some might imagine it patriotic,
Like a king who rules from on high
But that feeling is but a pity,
When one's body fills the sky
Over the lines of ancient scriptures,
One's mind might be tempted to play
But scholarship will never find it,
Save it turn not its heart away
Exhaust the poet's language,
But the description is still quite poor
For who can fathom such deep waters,
Kaigong...the other shore
At the Practice Site Not a Word Was Spoken
Sitting down early morning,
Legs folded, hands at side
Belongings stacked fore-center,
Shoes sloughed off loose, untied
Not a word was spoken,
No tension filled the air
No motion moved on lips,
Nor eyelids lifted to stare
For all there sat with one purpose,
One noble and glorious aim
To lift their hearts on high,
To rise above this mortal frame
Like a glacier slowly melting,
Its gentle stream caressing the shore
A charm like small child sleeping,
A kind of silent, sweet rapport
So the words they left unspoken,
Ere the silence might be broken
And were it to shatter - Oh the horror!
Better than without the Law to be a widow - lame and blind and poor
To Know Its Weight and Cherish It
When the evil wrought on me,
Kept but barely at bay
Though my lantern had broken,
The Fa lighteth my way
And when I became weary,
When in the battle I fought
The Fa did provide me,
The respite I sought
And when I had fallen,
And could barely press on
The Fa lifted me up,
The Fa kept me strong
And when I weathered the night,
Through long cold winter storm
Though I slept with no blanket,
The Fa kept me warm
So until dawn arises,
Come what evil, what may
Long shall I treasure...
This precious, life giving Way
Dear Poor Brother
While walking you begged me,
Kind sir spare a quarter
You clothes were disheveled,
Your mind in disorder
I returned that I'd grant you my dollar and dime,
If perchance I might borrow your ear for a time
If you want a way out of this mess that you're in,
Then look not for money, but search thy own heart within
And here is the name of a book,
You can read it
And here is six pence,
It looks like you'll need it
But I tell you dear poor brother,
With words that ring true
Look hard at the advice I've given to you
For this Book can take a man's heart and then lift it,
The threshing floor, wheat, sweep the chaff, and then sift it
So I beg of you now,
Take not mine arm but one stronger
Hear the Law, and though poor,
You shall be homeless no longer
Will Forever Remain a Mystery to Mankind
Out of stones and wood and cloth he weaves,
There the foolish man aspires
Precarious wings of flight to build,
So that he might ascend a little higher
But build it not he knows for what,
By blinding furnace forge and smoke of funeral pyre
There watch playful muses, laughing,
Dreading not what foolish mortal men conspire
But the Gods inscribed a warning fair -
"Ascend this slope with blunted heart
And there stand guards of mighty stature,
Leveling perils to impair"
But the fools they look not twice,
Before to climb the rose's thorny side
And the thorns leave the cowards fallen, bloody,
Revealing mortals' haughty pride
A wound as if to leave a warning,
Clearer than the call of morning meadow lark -
"You shall find pasture not at all,
Without the restraint of Law in thy mortal heart"
A Right Life Nobly Lived
Spring loves a man who knows it's worth,
A prince alone of noble birth
Taughtly trimmed and sprightly tied,
A piercing glance, but not an ounce of pride
If as a king he reigned or as a beggar begged,
He would pay all kindly, each his wage
And he lives not now with riches few,
But if found without, he would live no less true
And though born of royal blood may be,
Of his time freely gives, without a fee
And if the poor do think,
"Why has it he, and not me?"
Although you cannot, the Gods can see
To him can be given and to him for free
For if fate turned it 'round,
In his heart would be found,
Not one such thought for thee
The Man Who Did Fortune Pursue
Not a right living man,
All his neighbors they knew
Not a day without chasing,
The man who did fortune pursue
Like restless wind in autumn,
Pushing hapless leaves along
His yearning ever earning,
The disdain of both bards' poet and bards' song
He'd rather be scorned and forlorn,
Than even one passion subdue,
The man who did fortune pursue
From day to day,
A new hustle to play
So conniving his mind, though he had not a clue
That from even a beggar, he five sheckles withdrew
The man who did fortune pursue
But his life had it not
Despite that he for it,
With all his might sought
The day's end left his burned
Like a candle snuffed out,
Nightstand over turned
And so ends his life weeping,
His friends precious few
The sad, sorry plight
Of the man who did fortune pursue
New York The Crucible
The gentle daughter or the headmaster's son
Who fate has found and sent a foray into the fray
Precious few those born this hour who chance to come this way
And lingers not, save a lazy man
Who imprudent sleeping wastes his pay
So advice is kindly given
Does not thou see it's fortune calling?
Keep thy mortal thoughts at bay
Else the ship, she'll be lost at anchor
And the skipper lose his way
One must keep his mind at calm
Whilst in his heart light a fire
Lest his soul let be ensnared
By that last lingering desire
Time's fingered hand turns the hourglass once round
As the passing days slip by
In this heart a crucible
And in this precious chance an eye
Surely strength must grasp the moment
And let diamonds be wrung from clay
For as pressure makes the stone more precious
The same as discipline - Carpe diem, Seize the day!
Category: Journeys of Cultivation
