Sometimes the birds chirp inside me, sometimes I chirp inside the birds. Sometimes the birds are just there and I am here, as always. Sometimes just chirping, sometimes silence, sometimes both at once. Sometimes the birds shit on my head. Sometimes there is no bird no I no here no chirp no silence and no shit. Sometimes I am the birdman and the manbird. Sometimes, a mird or a ban. Sometimes no word and no hard borders. Sometimes the birds chirp so vibrantly, and their colors sparkle so beautifully that each atom of every feather holds the whole universe, the sun and all the stars in the sky. Some days, life and sitting is just for the birds …
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(But I don’t believe in or need no friggin’ “witness.” Give that crutch up!)
Jundo Cohen Roshi – Treeleaf Zendo
Reality is Dharma 