Daniele Bolelli - Podcasts: The Drunken Taoist and History on Fire
Taoist Lecture Series
Not Afraid - Audiobook
Poetry of Zen monk Ikkyo Sojun ( 1394–1481 )
*The Lady Mori was a blind minstrel with whom Ikkyo had a long standing relationship with*
Lady Mori's Gifted Touch:
My hand is no match for that of Mori. She is the unrivaled master of love play: When my jade stalk wilts, she can make it sprout! How we enjoy our intimate little circle.
I Hate Incense:
A master's handiwork cannot be measured But still priests wag their tongues explaining the "Way" and babbling about "Zen." This old monk has never cared for false piety And my nose wrinkles at the dark smell of incense before the Buddha.
Crazy Cloud speaks of Daito's unsurpassed brilliance But the clatter of royal carriages about the temple gates drowns him out And no one listens to tales of the Patriarch's long years Of hunger and homelessness beneath Gojo Bridge.
Monk Gantō practiced Zen while rowing a boat; Monk Chin gathered rushleaf to make sandals. I always praise the great worth of a single raincoat and straw hat - But who is there to appreciate their true elegance?
Studying texts and stiff meditation can make you lose your Original Mind. A solitary tune by a fisherman, though, can be an invaluable treasure. Dusk rain on the river, the moon peeking in and out of the clouds; Elegant beyond words, he chants his songs night after night.
A Hermit Monk in the Mountains
I like it best when no one comes, Preferring fallen leaves and swirling flowers for company. Just an old Zen monk living like he should, A withered plum tree suddenly sprouting a hundred blossoms.
A Man's Root
Eight inches strong, it is my favorite thing; If I'm alone at night, I embrace it fully— A beautiful woman hasn't touched it for ages. Within my fundoshi there is an entire universe!
Three Poems on Love and Longing
Day and night I cannot keep you out of my thoughts; In the darkness, on an empty bed, the longing deepens. I dream of us joining hands, exchanging words of love, But then the dawn bell shatters my reverie and rends my heart.
Women, lovely flowers that bloom and quickly fade; Flowery faces, in full flush, lovely as dreams. When flowers burst open they grow heavy with passion But once they fall, no one speaks of them again.
Even if I were a god or a Buddha you'd be on my mind. I sit beneath the lamp, a skinny monk chanting love songs. The fierce autumn wind nearly bowls me over And my heart is choked with thick clouds.
Farewell, Lady Mori
Ten years ago beneath the blossoms we began a fragrant alliance. Each stage was a delight, full of endless passion. How poignant, never again to pillow my head on her lap. Making sweet love together, we vowed to be together always.
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