I never
grasped emptiness
or hiked around Mt. Sumeru,
patted Chao-chou's dog
or teased Nansen's cat,
blocked the Bodhidharma's uppercut
or slept in Han Shan's dirty hut,
borrowed Wendy Johnson's garden rake
or rode the Ox through the Gateless Gate.
I never, ever
suffered the Great Doubt
or solved any of Rinzai's riddles,
looked for sticks in Yun-men's crapper
or broke Tassajara bread with Shunryu Suzuki,
minded the flapping flag for Hui-neng the sage
or heard Jiyu-Kennett move her whisk in Mt. Shasta's shade,
chanted on Mt. Tamalpais with Whalen, Ginsberg and Snyder
or saw Dogen's True Eye open just a little bit wider.
I never did.
Nope, never!
Not in 55 lifetimes.
Yet, it seems like I did.
Yep, dayinanddayout,
appearances notwithstanding,
Reality appeared just So.
This I know:
their heritage is in my heart,
their myths mine,
these dear Friends of the Buddha Mind.
Above the Fog
By Michael P. Garofalo
4:42:43 PM 
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