Watching From the Walkway


For many years he savored life at Eiheiji Monastery—

when he needed to get up

he got up,

when he had to sit

he sat,

nothing special;

at times the unusual people from the city

would visit, watching from the upper walkway


When fifty-five he moved to San Francisco,

four am each morning

practicing solo, in silence

amid the crisp space at 1881 Bush St.

One by one the curious joined him,

first a few, soon cascading¬† into hundreds—

no Tweets, no data,

just ear whispered


Years later surprise return visit

to Eiheiji Monastery

himself now part of those visiting from the city;

witnessing panorama of monks walking into the hall,

opening gong, bells, reciting the sutra,

nothing special,

yet such a deep feeling, tears flowing,

watching from the upper walkway.

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