When in winter
Still water by the wind is stirred,
It takes as ice the shape and
Texture of a rock.
When the deluded are disturbed
By interpretative thoughts,
That which is as yet unpatterned Turns very hard and solid.
Mind immaculate in its very being Can never be polluted by
Samsara’s or nirvana’s impurities.
A precious jewel deep in mud
Will not shine, though it has luster.
Knowledge shines not in the dark, But when the darkness is illumined, Suffering disappears at once.
Shoots grow from the seed
And leaves from the shoots.
He who thinks of the mind
In terms of one or many
Casts away the light and
Enters the world.
Into a raging fire
He walks with open eyes –
Who could be more
Deserving of compassion?
Ah, the beauty of existence! The sheer delight of it! The joy, the song, and the dance! But we are not here. We appear to exist, but we are almost nonexistential, because we have lost contact with existence, we have lost our roots in it. We are like an uprooted tree: the sap flows no more, the juice has dried up. No more flowers will come, and the fruits…. Not even birds come to take shelter in us.
We are dead, because we are not yet born. We have taken physical birth as our birth; that is not our birth. We are still existing as potentialities, we have not become actual; hence the misery. The actual is blissful, the potential is miserable. Why is it so? – because the potential cannot be at rest. The potential is continuously restless, it has to be restless: something is going to happen. It hangs in the air, it is in limbo.
It is like a seed…how can the seed rest and relax? The rest and relaxation is known only by the flowers. The seed has to be deep in anguish, the seed has to continuously tremble. The trembling is…whether he will be able to become actual, whether he will find the right soil, whether he will find the right climate, whether he will find the right sky. Is it going to happen, or will he simply die without being born? The seed trembles inside, the seed has anxiety, anguish. The seed cannot sleep, the seed suffers from insomnia.
The potential is ambitious, the potential longs for the future. Have you not watched this in your own being? – that you are continuously longing for something to happen and it is not happening, that you are continuously hankering, hoping, desiring, dreaming, and it is not happening! And life goes on flowing by. Life goes on slipping out of your hands and death comes closer, and you are not yet actual. Who knows which will come first: actualization, realization, blossoming, or maybe death? Who knows? Hence the fear, the anguish, the trembling.