There is no sense in going further — it’s the edge of cultivation,
So they said, and I believed it — broke my land and sowed my crop —
Built my barns and strung my fences in the little border station
Tucked away below the foothills where the trails run out and stop;
Till a voice as bad as Conscience, ran interminable charges
On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated — so;
“Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges —
“Something lost behind the ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!”
for all of those moments we miss when we forget to go outside…when we simply forget…..
inquiry for today~ how many times do you look up at the sky? does it matter? who are you when you are wandering? is it possible?
Taking a little food, a light walking stick,
I wander up from my home in quiet mystery,
the path along streams winding far away
onto ridgetops, no end to this wonder at
slow waters silent in their frozen beauty
and bamboo glistening at heart with frost,
cascades scattering a confusion of spray
and broad forests crowding distant cliffs.
Thinking it’s moonrise I see in the west
and sunset I’m watching blaze in the east,
I hike on until dark, then linger out night
sheltered away in deep expanses of shadow.
Immune to high importance: that’s renown.
Walk humbly and it’s all promise in beauty,
for in quiet mystery the way runs smooth,
ascending remote heights beyond compare.
Utter tranquility, the distinction between
yes this and no that lost, I embrace primal
unity, thought and silence woven together,
that deep healing where we venture forth.