the homeless roof

As I come back to JR station in Kyoto. This is what I see:

On the pavement
a house made of wide opened
umbrellas

the windbell

In praise of all my teachers from whom I received life-as-it-is, for the Buddhist patriarchs, for Kodo, Niwa, Gudo and Chodo Cross, my boundless gratitude. In praise of the ineffable that I don't understand and don't practice well, in praise of the kesa, my life and my love. For all of you.

In life and in sitting-Zen

I become what I fight,

what is surrendered flows in this and everywhere,

preaching is eloquent when I shut my gob

action universal when I let go of all doings,

whishing the release of knots, thinking the direction

wishing what I do not know,

wishing the ineffable

again and again

my homeless original face

Laughing

Il n'y a ni vie, ni mort.
Sans demeure, tout est sans demeure: notre corps et celui du monde.
Disciple et maître sont les montagnes qui marchent. Les eaux qui se mélangent. La neige sur la neige.

There is neither life nor death.

Homeless, everything is homeless: our body and the body of this world.

Disciple and teacher are walking mountains. Merging waters. Snow on snow.

Takuhatsu

yesterday blossoms

today snow whirling down

into my begging bowl

hier des pétales

aujourd'hui une neige virevoltant

jusque dans mon bol