July 18th, 2019

Height after height
Of strange mountain scenes,
New words, new ideas
In our conversation.
Wild pines blow in the wind
Like hanging manes;
The ancient rocks are covered
With mottled scales.
I enter the temple,
Seek the dream realm of the monks,
Thumb through sutras,

Feel the dustiness of this traveler’s life.
You, the Zen master,
I, a lover of wine—
We are brothers,
Way beyond the people of the world.

Yuan Hung-tao (1568-1610)