I dropped my head for a while, then found some words.
“Last nights’ rain leaked in and drenched my bookcase.”
I wanted to speak but didn’t as I was deeply embarrassed;
my mind deeply distressed, it was impossible to give an explanation.
In the morning the old man next door came to my thatched hut.
He asked me why the book was damp.
One evening sitting by the lamp my tears wouldn’t stop,
and soaked into the records of the ancient Buddha Eihei.
For whom was all his eloquence expounded?
Longing for ancient times and grieving for the present, my heart is exhausted.
Practice Within The Order of Buddhist Contemplatives
