A Zen Love Letter
My Dearest Beloved:
You are an illusion; everything is.
You are enlightened, and enlightenment.
You are liberation, and the source of suffering.
You are the mustard seed, and the desire…or is it the Other Way around?
You are the Buddha. The roshis tell me I should kill You if I find You.
You are void; imputed by my mind, projected from my desires.
You are impermanent; You fade from me like the sun, You flow away like the breeze…or water.
You are one hand clapping, and I am the sound.
You are the tree falling alone in the forest. I am the ear that hears when no one else is there.
You are I and I am You. We are All One in this perfect Zen moment.
Gate, gate, Parasamgate, You are gone beyond and beyond.
You never were, I never was….wisps…fragments
Passing by like clouds in the infinite sky, we meet.
I rain and You drink my gift. Between us there is no subject and object; You are the raincloud and I the parched plain; one and the same.
I am mu-shin, no mind…Thou art mu, Thou art shin
Tara art Thou. Black Tara, white Tara, all the same. Tara.
Thou art God, yet there is no God except the void speaking within.
Within me, within You.
Together, we are
fingers pointing at the moon
The gibbous Zen moon, the impermanent Zen moon.
The space within us, the space between us, the space around us.
You are Zen
I love You, dear illusion, dear passing cloud, dearest projection of my mind and ego and desire.
I. Love. You.
You are my right dharma, my right action. You are my sangha.
The teacher held up a single flower, in the palm of Her hand…
Then the flower smiled…
© 2013, Mark-Francis Mullen