January 09th, 2024

The Great Person from time past
Had no fixed abode,
In famed mountains hid his traces,
Grew old amid wind and frost.
From afar,
I know your white-rock hermitage,
Hidden in a haze
Of evergreen trees.
When the moon sets,
It’s mind-watching time;
Clouds arise
In your closed eyes.
Just before dawn, temple bells
Sound from neighboring peaks;
Waterfalls hang thousands of feet
In emptiness.
Moss and lichen
Cover the cliff face;
A narrow, indistinct path
Leads to you.

Chia Tao (779-843)