On the Path to Cold Mountain

Han Sh'an always noticed

small fallen things

because his mind was empty,

crazy and free

from anticipation.

He would pick up a lost soul

hold it in his palm and

breathe upon it

until it cooled off.

He would follow a stranger

and say, "Wait, I have your soul.

Would you like it back?"

The stranger would turn and look

at Han Sh'an from the holes in his face,

replying, "Go away, old beggar!"

So Han Sh'an collected

many sparkling selves

and gave them to orphans
and wanderers

at the ragged edges of the market place

where real business is done.

Then he decided to climb

back into the realm

of swirling mist.

That is when I met him

on the path to Cold Mountain.

"You must be Han Sh'an," I said,

"please give me a poem."

Han Sh'an replied, "Just look down

at the dust in your path.

Look up at the crow

in a dead pine waiting

for a tasty mouse.

Look at the gift of the blue sky

between white clouds,
between one moment

and the next.

This is your poem."

Early painting of the wild mountain poets Han Sh'an and Shi'te
who lived in 9th Century China, revered by both Buddhists
and Taoists, and Gary Snyder.