おちば

たくほどは
かぜがもてくる
おちばかな

takuhodo wa
kaze ga motekuru
ochiba kana

for my fire
the wind brings
enough fallen leaves

-Ryokan

ちるもみじ

うらをみせ
おもてをみせて
ちるもみじ

Ura o mise
omote o misete
chiru momiji

Showing its back
and its front
a falling maple leaf

-Ryokan

Ryokan (良寛)

Something once said about Ryokan has been on my mind, something very touching if one understands the context, which I am unable to give adequately here. After reading so much of his poetry, I feel I know his heart, and I also have some idea of the austerity of his training as a Soto Zen monk. Yet it's occupied my thoughts recently and I would like to share it.

After almost 12 years of training at Entsu-ji in Tamashima (in addition to four years before that at a local temple, Kosho-ji, Amaze, Izumozaki), Ryokan was ordained a priest by his master, Kokusen, who gave him a walking stick and a piece of paper, confirming his ordination. On it, Kokusen wrote: "Ryo seems foolish, but the path is very wide."

A year later Kokusen died, and Ryokan set off on pilgrimage for five years. After learning of his father's death, however, he returned to his native place and settled on Mount Kugami.

Ryokan had been head monk at Entsu-ji, a prestigious temple, and could have expected to be an abbot of his own temple, but he chose a different path. Once when such an offer was made to him, he responded with the following haiku:

the wind brings me
enough fallen leaves
to make a fire

What Ryokan's master said, what Ryokan wrote ... these words must be felt. An explanation ruins their beauty.

Stonehouse

I meditate alone in the quiet and dark
where nothing comes to mind
I sweep the steps when the west wind is done
I make a path for the moonlight
-Shih wu