Notes from the cell
Camo Thoi Temple (1153-1216)
Jets of the outgoing river ... They are continuous; but they are not all the same, the former waters. Floating bubbles of foam on the factories ... they will disappear, they will be contacted again, but for a long time to stay - they are not given to them. People who are born, die, ... where do they come from and where do they go? Both the host and his dwelling, both of them leave, rivaling each other in the weakness of their being, at all that dew on the loaves: then dew will fall, and the flower stays, but in the early sun it will dry; then the flower fades away, and the dew has not disappeared yet. However, even though she did not disappear, she did not have to wait for evenings.
Since I began to understand the meaning of things, it has already passed more than forty springs and autumn, and during this time a lot of unusual accumulations have accumulated, which I witnessed.
Some time ago, in a turbulent, windy night in the capital, a fire and a fire began, passing it back there, then, turned around wide, as if a folding fan was uncovered. The smoke was flooded in the house, a flame came near, the ash flew into heaven, fluttering flames fluttered through the blocks, people ... some were suffocated, others, embraced by fire, died on the spot. Men and women, renowned dignitaries, ordinary people died many thousands, up to a third of homes in the capital burnt down.
One day a terrible whirlwind rushed up in the capital, the houses that he covered with his blow, collapsed instantly, the roofs flew from the houses, like leaves in the fall, wood chips and tiles ran like dust, the voices of people were not heard from a terrible rumbling. Many people thought that such a whirlwind was a source of impending misfortune.
In the same year, unexpectedly, the capital city came into contact. The sovereign, the dignitaries, the ministers moved to the land of Setsu, to the city of Nanivah, and afterwards everyone was in a hurry to relocate, and only those who lost their lives were still in the old, dilapidated capital, rapidly decaying. Houses broke and floated along the river Yodogawa. The city turned into a field in the eyes. The former settlement is in desolation, the new city is not ready yet, empty and dull.
Then, it was a long time ago, and I do not remember exactly when, two years was a famine. Drought, hurricanes and floods. They plowed and sowed, but there was no harvest, and prayers and special liturgies did not help. The life of the capital city depends on the village, the village was empty, gold and rich things no longer appreciated, along the roads wandered many beggars. The next year was even worse, diseases were getting worse, vetry. People were dying in the streets without an account. Woodcutters in the mountains were weakened by hunger, and no fuel began, they broke down houses and smashed Buddhas statues, "it was terrible to see a gold pattern or a cinnabar on boards on the bazaar. In the streets, the stench of corpses has spread. If a man loved a woman, he died before her, her parents - before the infants, because they gave them everything they had. So, in the capital, at least forty two thousand people died.
Then there was a severe earthquake: the mountains broke up and buried under the river; the sea flooded the land, the land was opened, and the water, boletus, rose from the crust. In the capital, none of the temples, nor any pagoda remain the whole. Dust was worn like thick smoke. The buzz of the earth's shaking was just that thunder. People died in houses, and in the streets - there are no wings, so it's impossible to fly into the sky. Of all the horrors in the world, the most terrible thing is an earthquake! And how terrible is the death of crushed children. Strikes were stopped, but the thrills continued for another three months.
This is the bitterness of life in this world, and how much suffering falls on our hearts. Here are the people who are in a dependent position: joy happens - they can not laugh loudly, sadly on the heart - they can not cry. Just like sparrows at the kite's nest. And how despise their people from the rich houses and do not put anything in it - the whole soul rises when thinking about it. Who is poor - there is so much grief: you will be attached to someone, you will be captivated by love; you will live like everybody - there will be no joy, you will not act like everyone else - you will look like a madman. Where to settle, what business to do?
Here I am. There was a house for my inheritance, but my fate changed, and I lost everything, and now I had a simple cabin for myself. Thirty-plus years I suffered from wind, rain, flood, and fear of robbers. And it is self-evident that our life is insignificant. I left home, turned away from the vanity world. I had no relatives, no ranks, no rewards.
Now I have spent a lot of spring and autumn in the clouds of Mount Okharayama! My cell is quite small and tight. There is an image of the Buddha of Amida there, in the boxes there is a collection of poems, musical pieces, instruments of beaver and koto. There is a table for writing, a roaster. In the garden medicinal herbs. Around the tree, there is a pond. Ivy hides all the tracks. In spring - waves of glycans, like purple clouds. In the summer you listen to the cuckoo. In autumn, cicadas sing about the instability of the world. In the winter it is snow. In the mornings I follow the boats on the river, I play, climbing to the peaks, collecting wood, praying, keeping silence, remembering friends at night. Now my friends are music, moon, flowers. My cloak is from the hemp, food is simple. I do not have envy, fear, anxiety. My creature is that cloud that flows through the sky.