As Tibetan bells solemnly sound, from distant edges of a spaceless clearing where all worlds settle in together, this:
The River Village
by Tu Fu
The river makes a bend and encircles the village with its current.
All the long Summer, the affairs and occupations of the river village are quiet and simple.
The swallows who nest in the beams go and come as they please.
The gulls in the middle of the river enjoy one another, they crowd together and touch one another.
My old wife paints a chess-board on paper.
My little sons hammer needles to make fish-hooks.
I have many illnesses, therefore my only necessities are medicines.
Besides these, what more can so humble a man as I ask?
There is no place to go that is not here
No one and nothing can be left out
The sound of the bell is heartbeat of great emptiness
Crossing the divide