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.