In perfect mental meditation, Heat waves arise From the hollow of his heart, You wonder if instead of a mud pie You can offer your drenched shirt To the Buddha while climbing his throat.
When you come out from inside the furnace Into the pleasant shadow of trees And burn incense at the altar Standing on the still hot granite You wonder what came over you To have gone inside the heart of meditation.
Now sitting in a Ryokan across the road Gulping a glass of chilled beer You are tempted to take A fresh look at the Buddha at peace And you feel, how distance Lends enchantment to the view.
