High On Ching-Ting Mountain

High On Ching-Ting Mountain
© Surazeus
2018 04 15

I clamber steep green slopes of Ching-Ting Mountain,
following white wings of birds on the wind.

In shady grove where light and shadows play
I find two old bearded men on gray stones.

Li Po and Sam Hamill float in the breeze,
meditating through Zazen among clouds.

With emerald serpent wrapped around her waist,
Nuwa dances on lush mountain of trees.

Li Po writes letters of fire on clear air
and sings with the flight of birds in vast sky.

"The swift birds vanish from the boundless sky
and the last cloud falls on the world in rain."

Li Po twirls slow in dance of flowing arms,
weaving sunlight in sphere of glowing love.

"We sit together, the mountain and me,
till only the dreaming mountain remains."

Plucking feather from serpent of Nuwa,
Sam Hamill writes letters on my forehead.

High on Ching-Ting mountain, I dream the flow
of atoms that transform through every shape.

Nuwa shows me the history of all time,
predators eating prey in game of life.

I see the universe of galaxies
flash from the singularity of love.

I feel pulsing atoms spiral in stars
that nourish conscious life on spinning worlds.

Atoms beaming from the sun form the mountain
where fruit trees bloom in sunlight, wind, and rain.

I eat fresh apples that bloom from the trees,
so I am all, sun, mountain, wind, and rain.

When I die my body becomes moist dirt
where roots of trees transform me into apples.

I am the apple hanging from the tree,
singing forever in the wind and rain.

I descend steep green slopes of Ching-Ting Mountain,
new-born child of the soul who climbed the sky.