Venerable Sooti raises a bloody finger. “I was trimming brambles,” he explains. “They don’t take it sitting down, you know.” My eyebrows lift. “Have you ever seen brambles sitting down?” he demands. I shake my head. “There you are then!”
April’s air stirs those brambles, a butterfly floats and balances above them. Ah...Satori.
Sooti has been gnawing at my Koan about the temple dogs of Hokusai, who ride mountain bikes only after dark to avoid causing alarm. I give him a clue: “Whisper in their furry ears and ask them if they do,” I advise this junior Master. “I bet they won’t say no!”
At this, he sighs: his being is now full of light but weightless. One has an eye that sees all forms, but often does not see itself. It is simply this.
© Mike Atkinson
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