Meditations on 84: Whose Song Do You Sing?

Meditations on 84: Whose Song Do You Sing?

Splendid things— purple flowers, purple paper
and a spacious garden covered with snow
wonderfully wonder— snow on the marble
snow-white against stone-white mountains

Out of this beauty something must come
beauteous blessings— the spring of blossoms
Chartres is great and Beethoven's Quartets
higher still: Emptiness— Infinite Zero

yet from this Nothing everything comes—
the heron flies over the Silent Land,
orange sunrise beyond the mulberry grove,
and the river gleams between the villages.

Mother waters— pour out your wine again
the joy that ever melts and flows in song
light flakes pour down on the poet's page
sun and moon and countless stars singing

O love, O night, O dome of sky— tell us
we are only one dark space, a drop of
sheer nothingness— not asleep nor dead
but something is— an unravelled mystery.

When the first light of heaven descends
from its home— we pay our homage
to father sun never ceasing to begin
the splendor of day where we wake to

the precious pearl in glorious light
swallows in the sky, lilies in the pond,
the sparrow builds its perennial nest
being joyful when the moon grows full.

The moon in the center of its white page,
the moon is your heart— keep it pure
Pearl beyond price— peaceful & timeless
the enlightened— always active for others.

The swans sing sweetly— Poet, go home
write, compose— make your poem a flower
that opens itself like a tiny temple door
so that all may come in and be refreshed

Every morn and eve in prayer— free
at ease, everywhere a calm spring wind.
They ask me "Whose song do you sing?"
These days I only sing la-la-la

Peter Y. Chou
Mountain View, 12-6-2005

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