Entangled

Empty-handed I entered the world

Barefoot I leave it.

My coming, my going --

Two simple happenings

That got entangled.

Kozan Ichikyo

On February 12, 1360, at the ripe old age of 77, Kozan Ichikyo sat up in his bed, wrote this poem and then died while the brush was still in his hand.

This is how I hope to meet death.

I want my eyes to be wide open, still drinking in this world that I've loved so well. I want to write glorious death bed poems, and to greet death with gentle whispers of the all love that I've known over these years.

I want my life to be a poem of love...a simple, one word summa for my life!