It is Mind Only singing an everlasting song of suchness. To some it goes up; to others it goes down; and then again to some, it is as it is, which is more than enough.
When deathless fools, soiled in desire bodies of thought, meat and bones yet endowed with perfect hearing refuses being mindful of its compassionate tune, a vast universe of any-thing and no-thing arises spontaneously in a magical mirror of no traceable standing, nor original point of causation.
What then is this body of Zen?
It is THAT which is unbound and unaffected by these seemingly countless rain drops, all raised from its cloudless sky of perfect purity and sheer productiveness.
A crow caws outside an open door,
The dog of joshu barks back in playful response,
Your window of opportunity is right there.
A comfortable soul numbing zafu and an empty bowl
of poisonous soup at such an auspicious time,
is such a disgrace.
Suddenly the crow is gone with the dog on a grim hunt for its tail,
Friend, if you are still here in this thick haze of Dead Zen
What are these things before you but the dry bones
of birth and death?