A Drop from a Fountain, a Waft from a Fan.

Listen:
“Good bye.”
These words always deep
Within the air.

Wings of a passing butterfly -
Bright sails of a fountain...

Fading away over a horizon
Surging into the hush of sky...

All these sailing drops from a fountain
Fanning through the air
To answer for themselves
Their own mysterious question.
Don’t ask, listen:
“Good bye”

Wings and sails
Are ultimately beyond ken…
Beyond doing…
Almost hallucinatory
Flashes scattering into the white sprays of sun:
A foam of brocaded wings
A jet of fountaining sails
The sweep of a fan
Reaching everywhere
In the Permanence of Wind

All Thus Come…

Filled with tremendous greeting -
Splashing over with endless gratitude at leaving
And leaping into the air with
A brief, but forceful waving
Good bye.

And more than a thousand years ago
In Guandong province, China
A young student asked,
"What is one drop
From the fountain
At the Master's temple
Like…?"

One wonders how long he remained
When told by an elder, who had been there
That it was just like…
One drop
From the fountain
At the Master’s temple.

Listen: “Good bye”.
The ancient masters
Urge us to leave ourselves behind.
Each of their words is
But One drop from the fountain,
Fanning through the air:

A long stretching path
Circulating through the formlessness of sky,
A drop evaporated
On a ray of light down a transparent river
Leading invisibly back into form
One drop
From the temple fountain.

The silent event of an inner answer, a recognition
That is just as
The fanning of one’s self
To acknowledge a question respecting
The Permanent Nature of Wind,
And how it is that it reaches Everywhere.

As the Master remained silent
Wafting the air insouciantly about him,
The fan in his hand was as deft as a butterfly wing.
The student simply bowed and departed,
Not uttering a sound.
“Thank you”
Was already very deep within the air