You glimpsed the
hollow circle,
but the moon still seemed to be
above you, and the stars beyond.
Then something shifted,
though nothing moved.
Now words like
above, beyond,
inside, outside have no meaning.
10,000 things arise and pass away
without coming or going.
You cherish the musk of emptiness.
Walking barefoot by the river,
noticing young green willows,
you listen to the
whisper of their fronds
and grasp without a single thought
that the ripple and
sigh of the willows
are not other than your eyes and ears.
The river flows through the stillness
of the Self, yet the Self is not other
than this shimmering of water and sunlight.
Through every cell of your body,
you see that the 10,000 things
are weightless, free
of existence.
With every breath, you touch
the uncreated stars and know
that creatures are pulsations of stone,
free of non-existence.
And because you
were never born
you dance upon the earth.
Now you can solve the koan: "Why walk
barefoot by the river in Springtime?"
To greet each wild dandelion
as an old friend, and to learn
by the scent of every hyacinth
that the mud between your toes
must be made out of pure awareness.
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