The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Saturday, March 19, 2016

To the Tune of "Bodhisattva Barbarian"

The flowers flicker. Moon in soft mist.
Just the time to go to my man,
walking in stockings on fragrant moss,
gold-threaded shoes in my hand.

South of the painted hall we meet.
I throw myself on his chest, trembling,
tell him: "It was so hard to sneak out.
So love me now with all abandon!"

--Li Yu 
936-978

Translated and edited by Tony Barnstone
and Chou Ping
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