I like this one a lot. In Zen, the masters sometimes speak of themselves as "withered trees" because they need so little. I like Zen for the use of paradox and playfulness.
Maybe I should explain modeling some of my poems after Rumi, comparing myself to Zen masters, etc. In the last few decades, there has been a worldwide explosion of publishing around this sort of material, a wonderful abundance of English translations that are not focused on dry, linguistics accuracy. We'd be crazy not to enjoy this. I told my girl that I realized that, rather than being hesitant, I needed to have the balls to live up to my pretensions. I mean that these comparisons are not meant as equations, I don't equate myself to Rumi or Dogen or anyone else. But, in comparing what I know of myself to what I know of them, it becomes obvious just how much I can grow, just how much more I have to improve or work on. Isn't it great?
Before finding my girl this year, I felt like I was really getting used to being alone, and actually coming to terms with it. There is so much mobility and clarity in being alone. If you can take the harsh environment, you not only see some amazing things, you become something pretty special. Then, it's nice to drop the altitude and austerity and get warm again. Once you get to know that uniqueness or specialness personally down to your bones, you can more easily see it in others and connect with it in them. Now, instead of holding onto spectacular views, something spectacular holds onto me.
Scrub pines
don't ask for much.
No one gives them much.
They don't get much;
they don't need much.
Somewhere colder,
windier,
harsher
than where most trees
find comfort,
if you are up to the climb,
you will find them
holding on.
In thin mountain air,
through drought,
through winter,
through more than you
would want.
In bare patches
of thin earth,
roots in rock,
you will find them
holding on to
views
spectacular,
unimaginable.
Copyright 2007 Todd Mertz