the leaves in the stream move without a plan the clouds in the valley drift without design I closed my eyes and everything was fine I opened them again because I love mountains

all night I sit in bed listening to rain when it clears I open the window and doze off watching clouds nothing in life is better than being free but getting free isn’t luck

From outside my round pointed-roof hut who would guess at the space inside all the worlds in the universe are there with room to spare for a meditation cushion

This body lasts about as long as a bubble may as well let it go things don’t often go as we wish who can step back doesn’t worry we blossom and fade like flowers we gather and part like clouds I stopped thinking about the world a long time ago relaxing all day in a teetering hut

After meditation I chant a Cold Mountain poem after dinner I brew grain-rain tea and when some feeling lingers I can’t express I take a basket across the ridge and gather vine flowers

People say everyday mind isn’t our buddha nature I say our buddha nature is simply everyday mind afraid no one will do any work they teach grinding iron rods to make needles

before clouds return to the stream clear night dreams go far but not to the world of men

I often spend days warming moss-covered rocks gazing at the mountains I love until sunset

delusions require stillness to end