Cold Mountain points the way,
But Stonehouse opens the door.
I sit beside him as he recites his lines
One line is empty and the next one is void
Either way Existence remains pure
and the illusion of Being vanishes
But I ask him the question:
What is between the emptiness of the void,
and the void of emptiness?
He looks at me surprised;
He thought that secret was well kept.
He did not know that Manjushrimitra let it out
In the regrets of Cold Mountain we still
see the reflection of the world,
Stonehouse left those regrets behind.
The alchemy that Cold Mountain once sought in vain
Stonehouse serves with tea in his hut . . .
the entirety of nature through his eyes transforms us inwardly.
I live in a cold house on a stone mountain
and have not escaped the world,
but neither has it escaped me.
He laughs at my predicament
and I must admit his is right
Between the duality of the two nonduals, I somehow lost my way . . .
We sit in silence drinking tea,
and occasionally a word or two slips out . . .
The gate is half open,
his door is half closed.
A sutra is rolled up beside a vase,
where a single branch of flowers unfurls
The smell of flowers mingles with the taste of tea . . .