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Zazen
 
How boring to sit idly on the floor,
not meditating, not breaking through.
Look at the horses racing along the Kamo
River! That's Zazen
 
Daito - Great Lamp
1282 - 1334 

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Ikkyu Sojun is believed to be the son of an emperor and noblewoman, but many facts about his life have not yet been sorted out. Four centuries after his death the Imperial family honored him as one of it's own by decorating his grave with its Chrysanthemum Crest.

Ikkyu considered monkhood to be a classless society writing, "there should be no toleration of gossip among the clergy about who is of high or low birth."
At age 13 he entered studies at Kennin-ji in Kyoto and studied Chinese poetry, which gave him the grounding in the allusive (indirect reference) poems that he wrote.

Ikkyu scorned the Zen establishment's taste for titles, finery and vapid ceremony. He charged it with gross hypocrisy in the question of sex as homosexual love was common, and some masters that were heterosexual were believed to have installed their lovers in private quarters in the monastery. Ikkyu also expressed misgivings about his own failure
to abide by the precept that sex is named as one of the five desires which prevents adherents from gaining the way. He did not however attempt to conceal his passions from others and spoke out for the fundamental purity of sex itself.

Late in life he formed an enduring
relationship with a blind songstress named Mori, and the relationship is expressed in some of the poems.

Kennin-ji

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Front view of the lecture hall - Hotto

The moon is a house
In which the mind is master.
Look very closely:
Only impermanence lasts.
This floating world, too, will pass.

 

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Every day priests minutely examine the Dharma
And endlessly chant complicated sutras.
Before doing that, though, they should learn
How to read the love letters
Sent by the wind and rain,
The snow and moon.


Stilted koans and convoluted answers are all monks have.
Pandering endlessly to officials and rich patrons.
Good friends of the Dharma, so proud, let me tell you,
A brothel girl in gold brocade is worth more than any of you.


 
Every night, Blind Mori accompanies me in song.
Under the covers, two mandarin ducks whisper to each other.
We promise to be together forever,
But right now this old fellow enjoys an eternal spring.

 

Under the trees, among the rocks, a thatched hut:

Verses and sacred commentaries live there together.

I’ll burn the books I carry in my bag,But how can I forget the verses written in my gut?

 

Memories
There are none:
When they depart,
All is a dream:
   My life - how sad!

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