One day when P'ang layman (740-808)was selling bamboo baskets at the market place of Hung-chou. Seeing a monk begging alms, he took out a cash and said:
-Can you tell me how to appreciate alms?
The monk had nothing to say.
P'ang...
continue...
The dogs started moving a 6:00 AM. 14 degrees last week at this time last week, 47 today. Coffee at to table and a plan is emerging for the day. I check the sunrise and fog fills the valley. No just any fog but one of those vanilla icing fogs. Pure white, viscous, layered and perfectly flat on top. You could seem to skate on it, ride a horse on it or die on it. Above it is the black dawn sky with big stars and old planets. The point of observation moves to deck and the rocking char. The surface of the fog is raising but superb flatness remains. The horizontal edge is approaching my altitude. Then it happens. I am in between. Bright darkness and zero white visibility. The line, which has no mass, is bisecting my eyes. All can be seen but nothing can be seen. It is the place where the Buddha dwells. MU
The dog is licking my hand. Wind is licking the tree branches. Buddha licks my wounds. Earth meets sky, rain tumbles down, around her shoulders, with unwashed hair.