The Old Zen Priest Bows To The Old Zen Monk. Incense Rising.

This morning I opened my social media and nearly immediately was gifted with a poem from the Zen priest and hermit Ryōkan Taigu. It was posted by Kuya Minogue. Kuya simply said “Ryokan describes my life.” With that she offered this verse from Ryokan’s Chinese poems.

Looking back I see more than seventy years

have already passed.

I am tired of seeing through right and wrong

in the human world

Snow in the late night covers all traces

of coming and going

A stick of incense burns by the old window.

I sit.

It captured my imagination. One of those just right moments.

It also led me to a revery. I am always curious about poetry in translation, what is captured, what is missed.

But most of all I was taken with that last line, “I sit.”

I rummaged around the web. One thing interesting was that I couldn’t find the source for this version. Admittedly with a cursory google search. Possibly this version is from Kuya, herself.

I did find two other translations.

I am more than seventy, as I look back upon my years gone.

I have known the rights and wrongs of men, till I am sick.

On this night of deep snow, hardly a trace of man in view,

A rod of incense gives off a trail of smoke by the window.

(translated by Nobuyuki Yuasa)

and

Reflecting over seventy years,

I am tired of judging right from wrong.

Faint traces of a path trodden in deep night snow.

A stick of incense under the rickety window.

(translated by Kazuaki Tanahashi)

It was interesting to note neither of these versions included the phrase “I sit.”

That led me on a bit of a journey.

Yesterday our little Empty Moon Zen sangha had what we call an “all day sit.”

Sit. Sit is a word used in the Zen world as shorthand for Zen meditation.

All day gets quotes because in our little zoom world and hoping to accommodate householder life, it begins at 6:30am and ends at 4pm. For the unexperienced perhaps a bit daunting. For the old Zen hand, not all day.

With that an invitation and an opportunity, for which I am so grateful. Turns out it was just enough. I discover a lot of that just enough in my life these days. Usually in small moments.

Small blessings, littered in front of us.

If we’re really gifted in the practice, at some moment, perhaps several, sitting on that pillow perhaps there is a cutting through the whole matter. Then “I sit” disappears.

From somewhere a voice rises.

More than seventy years.

No more more judgements.

The way itself more than half forgotten.

Incense smoke rising. An old window.

Is that Ryokan singing?

Is it me?

And, where is the I that sits?

Endless bows…