Shih-wu (1272-1352)

Here in the woods I have lots of free time. When I don’t spend it sleeping, I enjoy composing chants. But with paper and ink so scarce, I haven’t thought about writing them down.

Now some Zen monks have asked me to record what I find of interest on this mountain. I’ve sat here quietly and let my brush fly. Suddenly this volume is full. I close it and send it back down with the admonition not to try singing these poems. Only if you sit with them will they do you any good.
 

I live far off in the wild
Where moss and woods are thick and plants perfumed.
I can see mountains rain or shine
And never hear market noise.

I light a few leaves in my stove to heat tea.
To patch my robe I cut off a cloud.
Lifetimes seldom fill a hundred years.
Why suffer for profit and fame? 

This body’s existence is like a bubble’s;
May as well accept what happens.
Events and hopes seldom agree,
But who can step back doesn’t worry.

We blossom and fade like flowers,
Gather and part like clouds
Worldly thoughts I forgot long ago,
Relaxing all day on a peak.  

My Ch’an hut leans at the summit.
Clouds sail back and forth.
A waterfall hangs in front,
A mountain ridge crests in back.

On a rock wall I sketched three buddhas;
For incense there’s plum branch in a jar.
The fields below might be level,
But can’t match a mountain home free of dust.  

I searched creation without success,
Then by chance found this forested ridge.
My thatch hut cuts through heaven’s blue;
A moss-slick trail through dense bamboo

Others are moved by profit and fame;
I grow old living for Ch’an.
Pine trees and strange rocks remain unknown
To those who look for mind with mind.
 
You’re bound to become a buddha if you practice.
If water drips long enough even rocks wear through.
It’s not true thick skulls can’t be pierced;
People just imagine their minds are hard.
 
Standing outside my pointed-roof hut
Who’d guess how spacious it is inside.
A galaxy of worlds is there,
With room to spare for a zazen cushion.

Shih-wu (1272-1352)

excerpted from  The Roaring Stream – A New Zen Reader By Nelson Foster and Jack Shoemaker 1996

Shih-wu (1272-1352) is almost unknown today. At forty, rather than accepting a temple appointment, he headed into the mountains continuing his life as a hermit. Shih-wu packed his verses with practice pointers and encouragements, allusions to sutras and Ch’an stories.

The poems above were written in the fourteen years before his death. Two anthologies of his work were published – his Mountain Poems and a collection of gathas. These have barely kept his name alive in Chinese poetry and his reputation as a Ch’an master has faded even more. Simplicity, naturalness and ease resound through the writing. readiness inundate everything, including the legendary you and the mountains, streams, and stars. Watch them all arise and pass away.

All of the above present to us koans that are present in the here and now. For most of us those places are literally far away and now covered with snow. How do we keep our practice whole, to go to our jobs, live in the cities and yet not lose the vastness so easily felt in the mountains? To create a true harmony with no divisions.

If you overlook the Way right before your eyes,
How will you know the path beneath your feet?
Advancing has nothing to do with near or far,
Yet delusion creates obstacles high and wide.

– Shih-t’ou (700-790)

Fine snow falling,
Elana, Scribe for Daily Zen