We are distant from Mado but its residents are near.

If you seek Mado you will not find it. If you are seeking you are thinking and Mado requires a clear mind. If you are being sought then you shall arrive at Mado. Your mind, and your thoughts will have halted allowing passage to Mado.

Mado is amidst the mountains and rivers. It lies between forests, streams and creeks, surrounded by a dense mist. Gibbons scream and roar, birds sing while drifting on the winds in azure sky while clouds cross.

Crossing rivers, moving through forests and scaling mountain sides Mado presents itself to you. There are huts, both wooden and stone. Dharma mats are present. One hut has an overgrown garden, its fence and gate wrapped in vines, the garden overcome with melon plants. A tiger lies on the ground, another rests in a hammock. Mado’s period of existence is unknown. Time has ebbed away. Seasons end, but no one counts the years.

A man emerges from one of the huts. He wears rags and robes, and a long white beard. He wears a kasa. He greets you, inviting you to join him, sit with him on the Dharma mats.

The gibbons cries can still be heard, and the birds continue their song. But you sit with the man on the mats, together in idle stillness. Words slowly fade out, replaced with wordless transmission, a silent conversation beyond the human cosmos. A third person joins you, minds clear beyond a world of dust. All of you from different lives, yet sharing in the same joy.

We are distant from Mado but its residents are near.

Okay, I really do not know what this it. It’s mainly a collection of ideas I got from ancient Chinese poets and Zen Buddhism and turned them into this. It is also influenced by Richard Brautigan, with a sentence from In Watermelon Sugar adapted into the opening and closing lines, also the idea of a hidden place.

Okay, some shout outs: Meng Hao Ran (jan), Shih-Shu and Pao Hsien. The last two can be read in The Clouds Should Know Me By Now: Buddhist poet monks of China ( and (

Also to a poet simply called the Ancient Recluse with this poem:

In Reply

Somehow I ended up beneath pines

sleeping in comfort on boulders

there aren’t any calendars in the mountains

winter ends but who counts the years

Available here in Poems of the Masters By Red Pine: ( and (

The title, Mado taken from a Motoharu Yoshizawa composition.

I only honestly don’t know if this is a failure or not, but I like it. Hope you do to. Comments and criticism welcome.


About skyraftwanderer

A person who enjoys writing short story things, poetry and other random things that come into my head.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s