Jane English, Crags
Jane English, Crags

The Dharma

On the way of the Dharma
We don't get there

Hills rocks rivers on the way
Sorrows respites
Dust grit anger wounds

The breath within
Is also the elusive distance

Passing through a village
The inn lit so late
But the curtains are drawn

Warm eyes rare welcomes
Teach me to care for my longing

In the windy wastes freedom
Floats upon the great emptiness

Up in the ranges, a sleeping doe:
One ear inward the other guards

The firs and pines sway together
Then vanish behind the track

All the clouds of experience
Sink into the Mountain

On the way of the Dharma
Sound of a steady footfall

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