Poezie: The Beauty of Spring Blocks My Way

Van Zen koans tot de liederen van Milarepa, het boeddhisme lijkt doordrenkt te zijn in poëzie. Verschillende grote meditatiemeesters hebben hun wijsheid en dichtvorm uit weten te drukken. Naar alle waarschijnlijkheid zullen we nooit begrijpen wat ze precies bedoeld hebben maar dat neemt niet weg dat we niet kunnen genieten van een gezonde dosis verlichtte poëzie.

Spring comes slowly and quietly
to allow Winter to withdraw
slowly and quietly.
The color of the mountain afternoon
is tinged with nostalgia.
The terrible war flower
has left her footprints-
countless petals of separation and death
in white and violet.
Very tenderly, the wound opens itself in the depths of my heart.
Its color is the color of blood,
its nature the nature of separation.

 

The beauty of Spring blocks my way.
How could I find another path up the mountain?

I suffer so. My soul is frozen.
My heart vibrates like the fragile string of a lute
left out in a stormy night.
Yes, it is really there. Spring has really come.
But the mourning is heard
clearly, unmistakably,
in the wonderful sounds of the birds.
The morning mist is already born.
The breeze of Spring in its song
expresses both my love and my despair.
The cosmos is so indifferent. Why?
To the harbor, I came alone,
and now I leave alone.

There are so many paths leading to the homeland.
They all talk to me in silence. I invoke the Absolute.
Spring has come
to every corner of the ten directions.
Its, alas, is only the song
of departure.

Thich Nhat Hahn

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