In a forest clearing stands a hut. The hut is small, consisting of a single room. Built from wood gathered from the forest it is the home of a solitary monk. For a few hours during the day he forages for food and water. The rest of the day is spent in meditation, legs crossed on his dharma mat, the monk in his robes silently practices zen. The monk has occupied this hut for years now.
As the flowers bloom and the world springs into life, he meditates. As cherry blossoms flutter on the breeze, he meditates. As the leaves turn gold, then brown as they tumble to the ground, he meditates. As snow bathes the forest and ice hangs from his hut, he meditates.
Day and night he practices. As sun beams radiate downwards he meditates. As moonlight peaks through the cracks in the hut, he meditates. As the rain drops from grey skies, soaking his robes through, he meditates.
Only one thing can halt his practice. A visit from a friend. The monk uncrosses his legs, rises to meet his companion and they both sit, drink tea and do not speak of failure or success.
The moonlight streams through the
trees, filtering through the huts fractures,
revealing the solitary silhouette of a monk,
practicing zazen on a dharma mat.
Last line of fragment inspired by a verse by Chia Tao:
Not having to be alone
we do not talk
of failure or success.
One of my favourite verses of poetry. As for my work (which is not as good), the fragment is playing with repetition but I do prefer the poem. Everything the fragment says but in four lines.