Poem: Wisdom of the Elders

Old growth Douglas Firs, their roots near a meander of the Little Blackfoot, know not that Dharma’s being taught in the old lodge of  woodpeckered walls a quarter mile away.

Their special transmission is outside scripture, with no dependence on words.

Wide trunks fissured and charred from fires of centuries, they practice Upright Being with mute profundity, keeping the beat of countless seasons, a timbered symphony of earth, water, sun, and sky, two hundred feet high, and a chorus of myriad smaller beings teaching the Dharma of Just This to the ten thousand things.

Jonathan Matthews Peaceful Mountain of the Source


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