Like a monolith,
stong and centered,
wavering not this way or that,
unaffected by habits or emotions
the mind is a calm lake,
subtly and correctly,
Illuminating.

What does man own?
What does man know?
What can man predict?
What can man prepare for?
What does man control?

When the world is gone,
what will remain?
What has been there all along,
unable to be held
in the mind or hand.

If I die at the foot of this cliff,
even my bones would be pure.

Though night after night
The moon is stream reflected,
Try to find where it has touched,
Point even to a shadow.