even the pines are trying to change raiments, emulating their deciduous cousins. one afternoon, tired from hours of zazen, i laid myself down on the bare wooden boards that form the outer walking corridor of the zendo, smoothed by thousands of footsteps, mindful and not so mindful, and listened to the tree. it was unintelligible. she spoke a different tongue from the cottonwood- sort of like chinese vs. japanese both unintelligible but differentiable from one another. or maybe my mind was trying to make it all up. it was just the wind blowing. as if in response, the wind picked up and a flurry of needles in bunches of five landed on me. the doan (time keeper) struck the wooden board twice- ten minutes left for the next zazen period. i wonder what lin-chi would have said if i had told him about this. three blows with a stick. probably well deserved.
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