Daily, nothing particular,
Only nodding to myself,
Nothing to choose, nothing to discard.
No coming, no going,
No person in purple,
Blue mountains without a speck of dust.
I exercise occult and subtle power,
Chopping wood, carrying water.

Some attribute it to Baso, the Japanese haiku poet - some attribute it to Mazu, 
the old Chinese chan master and teacher - and some attribute it to P'ang Chu, a 
student of Mazu's.

I guess some think this is just a "zen platitude" and not in the same lofty 
class as Rumi's poetry.



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