8 October 2006

Yeh T'ai Poem

[This poem was written by Yeh T'ai, a Chinese Mountain Hermit. It was written about another place and another time; but the words are completely Arunachala.]

At a true site . . . there is a touch of
magic light. How so, Magic?
It can be understood intuitively, but
not conveyed in words. The
hills are fair, the waters are fine, the
sun handsome, the breeze mild;
and the sky has a new light: another
world. Amid confusion, peace;
amid peace, a festive air. Upon
coming into its presence, one's
are opened; if one sits or lies, one's
heart is joyful. Here the breath
gathers, and the essence collects.
Light shines in the middle, and
magic goes out on all side. Above
or below, to right or left, it is
not thus. No greater than a finger,
no more than a spoonful; like
a dewdrop, like a pearl, like the
moon through a
a crack like the
reflection in a mirror. Play with it,
and it is as if you can catch it;
put if off, and it cannot be got
rid of.
Try to understand!
It is hard to describe.

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