I don't understand koans and I'm not sure if I've reached satori, but I sure do love the poetry written by Zen masters and monks. Lately, I've been reading the poetry of a Zen monk named Stonehouse (translated by Red Pine). I thought I would just share some of my favorites.

	Deserted mountains - not a man is seen, Only the sounds of wind can be heard. The sunbeam, entering the deep woods, Reflects again, on the green moss.
	-- Han Shan (8th century)

Before I ramble on about Stonehouse's poetry, let me introduce my background to Zen poetry. Take the Han Shan poem (on the left) as an example of what I have often thought of when I heard the term "Zen poem." It appears to be a description of natural scenes, haunting and beautiful, but nevertheless, it seems, er … purposeless, even pointless.

Perhaps that is the actual point of Zen poetry. An attempt to break a person out of their conventional views. To wake them from their sleep of illusions into the true reality.

	Not one care in mind all year I find enough joy every day in my hut and after a meal and a pot of strong tea I sit on a rock by a pond and count fish
	Poem 118

Regardless, in contrast to such lofty goals, the poems of Stonehouse are quite unpretentious. He abandoned life at the Zen temples in China to live at the tops of a mountain in a secluded world. Some fellow monks gave him some paper and asked him to write down his "thoughts." His "Mountain Poems" are the result.

In reading these poems, I've felt like I was transported to an unfamiliar world of the life of a monk. A simple life of solitude and work to survive. Some of his poems are downright cute and others you'll hear him complain. Many of them have some point.

	The stream is clear enough to see pebbles my ungabled hut sits among vines gibbons howl late at night when the moon sets few guests get past the moss below the cliffs bamboos in the yard bend with spring snow plum trees on the ridge are gnarled by winter nights the solitude of this path isn't old or new grinding a brick on a rock is a waste
	Poem 15

For example, Poem #15, like many poems from the world of Zen monks, it begins with an apt description of a natural scene, but ends with poem-provoking thought. The problem in this example, is that people in America are unfamiliar with the background.

So allow me to paraphrase the translator's footnote: A Zen master saw a monk meditating and asked him what he was doing. He replied that he was trying to become a buddha. The zen master then picked up a rock and started rubbing it against a bolder. The monk asked him what he was doing. The master replied that he was trying to grind a mirror.

	A clean patch of ground after it rains an ancient pine half-covered with moss such scenes appear before us all but how we use them isn't the same
	Poem 99

In other words, Buddhism teach that a person needs to end his suffering by ending desire … a life of "detachment," but isn't a goal, even the goal of detachment, a desire? And so, the goal of solitude to become enlightened can't be a desire. But still he stands like a plum tree on a cliff to be gnarled by the winter winds.

	My home is secluded far from the world the moss and woods are thick and the plants perfumed I can see mountains rain or shine all day I hear no market noise I light a few leaves to make tea on my stove to patch my robe I cut a cloud whisp lifetimes seldom fill a hundred years why bother chasing profit or fame
	Poem 13

So, let's be honest here. I often read for the joy of escape. And I guess I just love to read these poems … almost stories as you can guess as the events or thoughts that provoked the poem. But I like to read the poems and pretend that I am a monk living out my days in quiet solitude with little to disturb my peace. I like to think that my retirement, after I've made my millions, will be like the poems in his book.

Perhaps I need to stop my desire for millions and start my retirement earlier.