Pages

Friday, October 29, 2021

Bodhidharma (Anso), Sonnet #587


 







The man sat for nine years.

After seven he cut

Off his eyelids to keep

Awake. He disappears

Into the mental rut

So like and unlike sleep.

He becomes, without skin,

Just the robe he’s clothed in,

Empty of good and sin,

Sans end or origin.

At last he left the cave,

Thinking, “Mind is a grave

And nothing I can save.”

He gave the wind a wave.



My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase at Amazon. Click here:

No comments:

Post a Comment