On Failing Case 87 of the Blue Cliff Record
Master Dae Gak is unwell.
He sends me out to gather fragrant grasses;
I come back with the rain and fallen leaves.
Together we pass the night over the wood-stove in the drafty hermitage;
in the bent tin cup between us—the Ancestors’ Meaning.
One More Try at Case 87
Wind blows down the wooded path;
Crow calls—“Who is this that hears it?”
Mountains rise, one after another.
Mind sweeps mind.
Nothing in the universe is not oneself.