zen mountain Brow determined, well suppliedTim Vincent With pack and boot and heavy thought, Propelled by quick impatient stride The hiker lone the mountain sought. Rising path through spray-splashed shadows Barriers now the footsteps slow; Seeking ever higher answers Climbing hard against the flow. Forest trails abandoned now For alpine meadows bright and fair, No more do trunk or greening bough Arise to sigh in thinning air. Cupped in walls of jagged stone Celestial valley here attained: In ice-blue lake the heavens shown, A perfect mirror, void of stain. Bathed by day in golden sun The meditation bright and clear, Yet oft the errant thought doth run To climb the peak which towers near. The goal in view, the path though steep Might be traversed ere fall of night; No food, no pack to weigh the leap, No bed, no tent, no need to sleep, Now lightly, lightly scale the height. Trackless way through tumbled boulders, Hidden chasms filled with ice; Clinging close to mountain’s shoulders, Gain the peak whate’er the price! Overtopping rock-ridge high The summit scarce a mile away, Now thunder rends the shuddering sky And sudden storm eclipses day. Cascades of fire and stinging hail, The sport of godlings’ playful wrath; Now courage and direction fail, And nowhere shelter; lost, the Path. Lightning cracks a fevered cadence, Boulders dance with buzzing sparks: Crawl inside the deepest crevice, Cower there and wait for dark. Before the morn the storm subsides, But dawn brings not the day-star’s light; A shroud of freezing mist now hides The sun and mountainside from sight. Eighty paces, slipp’ry, stumbling, On the summit numbly stand; The rocky cairn there silent, humbling, Piled by unknown, unnamed hand. From the cairn no spreading vistas Rose to meet the gaze that sought The misty Void; no form, no distance, “ Who has come here?” voiced the thought. Slow at first, the gray shroud brightens, Shines with pale and frosty glow Dimly glimpsed, the Sun’s disk heightens, Quickening breeze begins to blow. Now from the peak the cloud-top slides, Now bright unfolds the azure sky. The mist no more the Clear Light hides And choirs of ice-slicked stones reply. One moment , passing , lasts forever. The man, the jeweled mount behold The face of Heaven, changing never, The clouds, an ocean white and cold. Soon enough the clouds unravel, The sun reveals, its warmth prepares a Path that feet might safely travel Down to valley and warmer airs, Down to comfort and ease of cares. No one walks the Path entire: No one climbs, none descend, But dream while life and lives expire And chance the fleeting years to spend Torn on clifftops sharp and cruel, To strive and pray for end of pain; Or sweetly rest by trout-splashed pool, In meadows bright with Autumn’s stain. Path’s end mortals may not know: Returning, wisdom drops like rain, As heaven’s tears by fishes flow And gently soak the grassy plain. |