Empty Cup

Wise is the page before pretentious words;
wise the tree, then it becomes the page.

Wise the unknown ocean depths;
luckily, we cannot have them.

Wise the boy I met on the shore.
He sat in the here and now:
a haven for the quixotic,
a sanctuary far from illusion or truth.

Wise is the humming bird,
it never speaks of god.
Wise the cave which upholds the yogi:
firm yet passive, imposing!
harmless and still;
inattentive to brahman.

Not knowing how to love,
that is very wise!

Careless of life and death:
no personal importance.
Thus, detached from life,
indifferent to death,
bare of self:
Love.

Steps devoid of path
self-less without a reason
a simple vacant heart:
nothing to lose,
emptiness.

A finger pointing to truth!
it should be cut.
Better is a crow with no mouth:
less unimportant noise.

A way?
Only for what you can know.
Compassion is void of knower and known;
what is there to know?

You see it not,
you cannot understand.
You want to strive for wisdom?
Better to laugh.

***

I sat down in a humble ryokan with Nan-in.

-What is wisdom? — I asked.

Nan-in took a big gulp of tea and said:

-The empty cup.

Just as the valley reveals its extensions for the timeless winds to pass through and the artist exposes her being for inspiration to arise, in the same way, the inclusive stream of Life needs all your available space to manifest naturally.