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Writer's picturehamid ebadi

still the tree stirs

Updated: Aug 31




dôgo and zengen went to a house to express condolences. zengen rapped on the coffin and asked, "alive or dead?" dôgo said, "I won't say alive and I won't say dead." zengen said, "Why won't you say?" dôgo said, "i won't say, I won't say!"

blue cliff record / case 55



withered tree standing outside the window now familiar now part of the scenery the scenery of coming and going errings mine no one's dharma bother mon semblable.


upright yet sapless leafless leafless and lifeless yet upright dead or alive pushing the sky with the crown of your head dead or alive pushing into the ground with your roots you go high for you go deep you keep stirring still


leaping beyond the circle of seasons extending yourself of ornaments stripped before the boundless exposing yourself offering to the boundless the golden leaves of leaping beyond the circle of seasons here i am before you


squirrels move up and down your branches you are a playground a sanctuary birds alight on your fingertips recite from their ancient book of chants songs endless where all things are mirrored and echoed songs spiraling endlessly then they fly away sending shivers down your body each time the body of suspened time that no one sees lightly the body you no longer feel yet feels deeply the tremors of all beings as they come and pass


dead standing among the living alive rising from the dead bare before the passing clouds miraculously spared spared for forgotten you are barrenness lifted to the sky in a cup of grace


dead or alive i won't say i won't say standing or falling remembered or forgotten we are all parts of the same stream myriad stream parts one current one flow flowing to where


you are the anchor and you are the banner of the wind she wears you as her keepsake keeps returning to you you home to wanderers to wonderings to listening listening to what


tree of questioning abloom in the night sky strewing star petals on the path of the blinded heart


" a monk asked unmon, ' how is it when the tree withers and the leaves fall ?' unmon said, ' completely exposed in the golden wind.' "

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