What tune will he play today,the great improvisor the Dharmajazz master?
Will our strings vibrate with empty fullness, or will our concepts transform his noble jazz into jumble?
Aiming hard at aimlessness, we wait in anticipation.
Here he comes! Flowing into the room across the floor and onto his cushion.
The hall falls silent. Only the singing of birds and the chatter in our minds can be heard.
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What tune will he play today,the great improvisor the Dharmajazz master?
Will our strings vibrate with empty fullness, or will our concepts transform his noble jazz into jumble?
Aiming hard at aimlessness, we wait in anticipation.
Here he comes! Flowing into the room across the floor and onto his cushion.
The hall falls silent. Only the singing of birds and the chatter in our minds can be heard.
The bell is invited, and the sound of Buddha resonates in the room. A moment of stillness and the master begins.
Are we prepared? Are we open? Are we listening? Are we receptive?
Sheets of words tumble upon us. We try our best not to try too hard And then it is over, we are content.
The concert was good. For a few moments we felt as though we knew the source of his music. As though this source was also ours (as he says)
We stand up and bow twice, And head slowly for the door. Sunshine and tea Are waiting outside.
Kare Landfald, Norway written by the lotus pond in Upper Hamlet on Aug. 5, 2001
