A poem I found in Prairie Wind, The Nebraska Zen Center's Spring 2010 newsletter:
"Coming empty-handed, going empty handed, that is human.
When you are born, where do you come from?
When you die, where do you go?
Life is like a floating cloud that disappears.
The floating cloud itself originally does not exist.
Life and death, coming and going, are also like that.
But there is one thing which always remains clear,
It is pure and clear, not depending on life and death.
Then what is the one pure and clear thing?"
Backing [Yourself] Into A Corner
3 days ago