Muddy Road

All gentleness I relate to you, all grace
You the connect, the passport
The mirror, a prism
To reflect, to refract
The surrounding world
Into a shape of sense
The gentle hand of Apollo
Stilling the waters
Clearing the skies
You made the horizon
Defined the edge of the leaf
Revealed my heart outside my body


Tanzan and Ekio were once travelling together down a muddy road. A heavy rain was still falling. Coming around a bend, they met a lovely girl in a silk kimono and sash unable to cross the intersection. "Come on, girl," said Tanzan at once. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her over the mud. Ekido did not speak again until that night when they reached a lodging temple. Then he no longer could restrain himself. "We monks don't go near females," he told Tanzan, "especially not young and lovely ones. It is dangerous. Why did you do that?" "I left the girl there," said Tanzan. "Are you still carrying her?"

(‘Muddy Road’ from Zen Flesh, Zen Bones (Tuttle Pub, 1957) compiled by Paul Reps and Nyogen Senzaki)

James Piers Taylor, 17th August 2006, London


IMAGE: New Moon (1958) by Maxfield Parrish