Ode to 'It'

October days of sunshine, nights of frost,
The chestnut leaves fan golden by the gate
With early mists, when all below is lost
Save field-tree tops. To us, the sun seems late,
Or is it just we rise and have a pee
And venture out in still dark air
To taste the day and feel the ground a while,
Before damp sheep begin to stir?
All standing, waves of movement, like the sea,
Then fingers curling round a mug of tea;
Sun under blanket, widening smile.

Be with the hua tou, a long sword that leans
Against the wonder of a wide, wide sky.
If tired of wrestling with just what it means
To you, be with a steady, wondering why,
That asks, ‘What is it?’ This. And ‘this’ is …what?
The Buddha, long ago, held up a flower
That stemmed all questions, natural style.
Still the retreatant, sitting by the hour,
Steps to the bell and gives ‘it’ what it’s got;
A paradox, ‘whatever is, is not…’
Hakuin answers, with a stern-hid smile.

Horse chestnut leaves fall gold-brown by the gate
Creaks open to a field, we run and run,
Without a thought of love, a thought of hate,
October nights are frosty after sun.
The evening comes, yet all is light around
Moon’s ‘beauty-truth’, on the white grass, a sigh.
Though there’s no actual grief in leaves
A-leaving, ‘yet, you will weep, and know why’.
When lighting lamps, keep both feet on the ground -
All’s in the timing…glow…and roaring sound.
For Quan Yin’s smile, a bit more Brasso, please.

Includes quotes from Hsu Yun, Seng Ts’an, Keats, and Gerald Manley Hopkins. Also, John Crook is paraphrased in the last line.