If the wheel of fortune is fickle by nature? The chances of your turn to be loved by it, May arrive at some point.
The title of my last post was: A year to forget, and move on, what follows? We will see…Well it did not take too long, did it?
I will not dwell in telling you, if you live here on Planet Earth, I am sure you are aware, unless you are a Chinese hermit living on the Zhongnan Mountains, Bill Porter found an old hermit who had been on the mountain for many years, and so isolated from worldly cares, he said to him, and his guide: “You guys mention chairman Mao, who is that guy?” He never had heard of chairman Mao!
Well our state of mind can be as that as well.
Matsuo Basho (1644-94), samurai-born but a rootless wanderer most of his life, was a deep student of Zen. One day his Zen master Butcho paid him a visit at “home” — a “broken cottage” by the Sumida River in Edo (present-day Tokyo). “How are you getting on?” the master inquired.
“After the recent rain the moss has grown greener than ever,” replied Basho.
“What Buddhism is there,” pursued Butcho, “before the moss has grown greener?”
“A frog jumps into the water,” replied Basho — “hear the sound!”
We’re almost there: “An ancient pond/ a frog jumps in/ the sound of water.”
A year of Pandemic, death, riots, unemployment, masks, isolation, uncertainty, contested election, and this New Year mayhem at the Capitol, a New President, Impeachment trial, and who knows what else it’s ahead of us?
My point is we cannot have the counsel of knowing the future, and even less to know it will be nice, and rosy.
When we arrive to a place in our road when we can grasp, we are not really in control, of what may happen except our own immediate actions, like knowing what you will cook for diner, even if you can’t predict, a friend will pick you up unexpectedly, and not able to refuse him, he will take you somewhere else to have diner, or an urgent matter comes to you before diner, and you must take care of it, and forget diner, or even worst a phone call with tragic news make you urgently to go away at once.
You get my meaning, there’s things that are beyond our control, and are unpredictable.
The Way To Cold Mountain
Cold Mountain’s full of strange sights
Men who go there end by being scared.
Water glints and gleams in the moon,
Grasses sigh and sing in the wind.
The bare plum blooms again with snow,
Naked branches have clouds for leaves.
When it rains, the mountain shines –
In bad weather you’ll not make this climb.
A thousand clouds, ten thousand streams,
Here I live, an idle man,
Roaming green peaks by day,
Back to sleep by cliffs at night.
One by one, springs and autumns go,
Free of heat and dust, my mind.
Sweet to know there’s nothing I need,
Silent as the autumn river’s flood.
Thirty years in this world
I wandered ten thousand miles,
By rivers, buried deep in grass,
In borderlands, where red dust flies.
Tasted drugs, still not Immortal,
Read books, wrote histories.
Now I’m back at Cold Mountain,
Head in the stream, cleanse my ears.
I travelled to Cold Mountain:
Stayed here for thirty years.
Yesterday looked for family and friends.
More than half had gone to Yellow Springs.
Slow-burning, life dies like a flame,
Never resting, passes like a river.
Today I face my lone shadow.
Suddenly, the tears flow down.
And no, I am not suggesting for you, to abandon life, and go to the mountains to live in a cave, but make your home your cave, when you daily retire to it, and free yourself at least for those hours, from the worries of the World, with the pandemic you must have acquired some practice already, neither worry about the news, what will come, will come, no need to agonize before our number It’s called up.