We discussed today the Song of the Grass-Roof Hermitage,
a poem we read once a month.
A few lines especially struck me today.
I've built a grass hut where there's nothing of value.It goes on to say it is a 10-foot square.
Is this the self that we construct? Do we know that it is only made of grass?
M apologized today for having opinions. Our “self” is but one big opinion. I like the idea that our self is so impermanent. Soon it will be covered in weeds.
Maybe we don’t look so great as we get older. Maybe we are covered with weeds rather than fresh grass.
And now the hurricane comes and the hut washes away. Here today—gone tomorrow.
It is sad but also reassuring that it doesn’t disappear, just that it becomes another grass hut or something else.
Another line that struck me:
Let go of hundreds of years and relax completely.Our opinions are steeped in hundreds of years of conditioning. We sometimes call this, “All our ancient twisted karma…”
It weighs us down. We can’t move. We really can’t think because we can’t consider the other side.
The next line,
Open your hands and walk, innocent.Can you feel the huge load that has been removed from your shoulders?