Dharma Poem: The Practice of Zen

How do I start? the disciple asked.
Where do I enter the practice of Zen?
Do you hear the stream’s murmur? the master said.
There you may enter.

Had they stood beside a busy road
the answer is the same:
enter the sound of traffic
or the cry of a child
or a siren’s wail.
The gateway for ditching yourself
is here
here
here.
Now.

You who come to sangha confused by conscious breathing,
once you get it’s about attention sans attachment,
playing loose and light with what you think you are,
how could you willingly come back tomorrow?
Nothing less than tossing yourself in air,
a refusal to pick up the pieces,
will allow you through Zen’s fast-swinging door
and–surprise!–arrive intact
and nowhere
special.

© April 21, 2014 Carolyn White 

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