Zazen

A Meditational Poem — Life in a Zen Buddhist Village

Image by cosmicart from Pixabay

In the morning, the villagers practice zazen —
In the fields, by the well, on the front porch
For one hour, they sit and breathe

The silence overtakes the camp like a thick woolen blanket
I too succumb to zazen

Soon all resume their morning duties,
Gathering fish by the pond, carrying vegetables from the garden
The making of rice —
All done to the rhythm of breathing
The entire camp has succumbed to zazen

I go about my own duties, the scrubbing of the temple floor
moving the brush in slow methodical patterns
Up and down, timed to my breathing
I am becoming zazen

Evening comes and a hush settles slowly over the small camp
Only the sound of nocturnal creatures can be heard
Along with the final breathing —
We are all zazen