There was, in the silence
such an eagerly anxious waiting
to relax and find.
Those who never find, never experience trouble.
Those who never experience trouble,
never know how it is to reign,
one leg in meditation, one foot on the ground,
ready to push off;
one hand gesturing up and away,
the other, bearing witness to the seed’s knowing.
Resting always teeters on the edge of stagnation,
instead of the effortless putting off of masks,
comfortable at last in skins broader than the universe,
brilliant as the flame in the center of the heart.
How do you teach without uttering a word?
How do you bow without something to bow to?
How do you convey history without
Those are the koans we should be dancing, drumming,
sitting, painting, gardening and sipping tea with
there is only