Meditations on 96         for Harold A. Scheraga's 96th birthday O sing unto the Lord a new song— Sing a lofty song to divine streams bathing by shores of washed-up pebbles as a bright light enlightens the earth— a great beam of light flies to the height and everywhere— the gentle breeze surround those tranquil in word & deed, such is the sage who's not this nor that. With propriety, we shall be free— plagues come not to those with humility, there's nothing higher than love for God, the warmth of prayer brings divine grace. Self-cultivation to rid selfish desires, being constant and we will awaken— All needs fulfilled living in the centre with vertical mind in the Now-moment. Clear thorns growing in fields of the mind to see the breadth of Eternal Goodness— the splendour bright of that display in the mind with a hundred thousand gates. No right or wrong in an empty mind— No grieve when abiding on nothingness. A dream in a dream needn't be told like fragrance from a withered flower. Within us is a universe as well— Basho's boat crossed the Milky Way, an unknown body in fields of blue— I am merely a shadow of the air. Building the Bird's nest in the snow, limitless are leaves in the fields, you walk alone, so mild in the forest, leaves falling in my sleep— Wake up! There is a wind or ghost of a wind when the earth is freshly washed, first white heron to the ocean— seven notes in the song of the flute.         Peter Y. Chou         Mountain View, 10-24-2017