Blue Mountain White Clouds Hermitage Priest
beyond this peak
is not my companion on this hill
it must return
to cast its light on the floating world
Doing what we do here is practising poverty. Mendicants, beggars, floating forms, as we sit, Thusness is reflected. Don't fool yourself thinking it is yours. Don't believe you have got it, and it can be spoken about, owned and tagged, put into a treasure box. Of course, a free heart can sing it so well. In fact awakening and words can be one. But the clinging is extra. You see Dogen in the end of the Fukanzazengi speaks of a treasure box but not of a box that closes...Listen, he says the treasure house will open of itself for you to use it as you wish and of course, this you is not anymore the you you are used to, the you that uses things, the you as opposed to me and them, box is open, self is open and everything else has vanished. The moon cannot be known,awakening is not something to toy with, it is the selfless action, the subtle doing of undoing. It cannot be self conscious. The floating world, ephemeral, full of vanity and deception is dressed in moonlight, the very transient and fragile and broken world around you is touched by this radiance, unconditionnal radiance, faceless, flowing everywhere. Destitutes, filth, darkness: all corners are lifted and unveiled. It returns there because it belongs there. The floating world is nothing but the body of the true Tathagata. For filthy eyes, it is just soiled and trashed. For naked eyes, it is perfect, round and clear.