Spirit of the Waters

From within the first winds  

Of spring  

Until the final winds  

Of winter

I gazed into a mountain pool,
Steadfast there daily
 'Til I gained an Audience
With the Spirit

 And from these Waters
At which I'd stared so long
Now at last the moment had come
To request admission 
To more deeply enter 
The womb of things.

I spoke silently this question
That had weighed me to a rock 
On which I had gravidly sat in meditation
For three whole seasons when  
At last the Waters within me
Burst

"Why am I the Answer?"

The pool lay still and mute,

Not a ripple upon its face.

Totally absorbed,

It absorbed this outflow

Of thought, of birth,

Of birth of no-thought. 

Yet herewith

My reflection interrupted, 

Mirrored on the still pool, 

My face,

He who had sired this meditation 

And who quickened before my eyes as its child. 

Semi-opaquely spoke,

"And why am I the Question?"    

I moaned as if in labor

And my pain sank to the depths. 

"I've been trying and 

Trying to Answer 

That Question."

Every surface my eyes weighed  

Seemed but to grimace

As I strained to give birth to 

A new understanding of myself

Hereupon
The Spirit of the Waters
Arose from the bottom
And in utter stillness said,

                                "The Wild Geese do not intend to cast an image,
                                  The Water has no mind to reflect them".            

I sank into these words

That ushered from the depths of the pool 

And saw myself and said, 

"My reflection and I 

Are confused in our mixture. 

Which one is real?

Thereof
The Spirit spoke again saying,

                                  "Both and Neither.
                                    Not both and not neither.
                                    Travel the middle way.
                                    I support you both
                                    As I am the Source 
                                    Of both of you. 
                                    This is always immediate, always present. 
                                    Do you question this?"

Hastily, my reflection spoke forthwith.
"Can you return us to
Our Source?" 

Slowly and deeply
The Spirit of the Waters
Quietly gave this sentence to my reflection.

                                   "That which can be returned to sources
                                     Is clearly not you.
                                     That which can be returned to nowhere
                                     Is none other than you". 

The Spirit paused.  I strained to hear below its surface 

 As it again intoned:

                                     "Only you, sire-child of reflection, 
                                       Clearly understand this
                                       And that is why you are so close to me."
 

And my reflection smiled.

Thereupon I said,

"But you never said which of us is real. 

You never answered my question."

Thereat my reflection interposed, 

 "Yes, you never said why  

He is the Answer 

And why 

I am the Question 

And why it is 

I understand his Answer 

But 

He doesn't understand my Question."

 

Once more, yet final,  

The Spirit of The Waters spoke hereat, 

Saying,

"The Question is a mirror for the Answer.

Together you always

Question the Answer

And

Answer the Question."

 

"Know that your are both

The Question and the Answer

And thus,

Arise dependent upon One Another

Until the moment arrives

You should come to share the same conclusion."

"In the interval before then,

What it is that is

Between you

Is the solution

You should turn to 

That you both might at last

Come to conclusion in me,

For only I am

Beyond all Questions and Answers."

And I arose from my long meditation,

Many seasons having passed

Along with perhaps many lives 

In an instant

And I looked into the pool in the stream

 

Which now shone with emptiness.... 

I stood up and walked on,

The reflections of the World sparkling in my eyes...

 

Note: This poem arose after reading the Surangama sutra and attending temple lectures on the 

 

100 Verses of Vasubandu. 

 

It was written at the conclusion of the Winter of '93 Practice Period at 

Tasajara Mountain Retreat, San Francisco Zen Center.