Words of Wisdom for August 23, 2025

Bulldozer

I was trying to meditate again
but the bulldozer
from Gary Snyderâs famous poem
was belching and slobbering
through my mind,
slipping in the steep mud
of the hillside it was trying to clear,
searching for purchase
so it could finally do some digging,
but getting nowhere.

It was pitiful, painful to watch.
But then suddenly I saw myself
sitting there thinking
I was trying to meditate,
to wrangle my thoughts.
Now I could see my body,
tidy and quiet,
patient in the lovely twilight
of the darkened room
with the candle burning.

Everything went calm.
I thought: this must be zen.
It was like stepping outside
at the end of a long,
troubled night and opening
the door to find a world
where the rain had ceased,
the clouds were at rest,
and the air fresh.

Zen watched from its own quietness,
not trying to make anything happen,
resting in a quiet expectancy
that expected nothing,
just more of itself.

Its peace was a self-unfolding,
a spring that kept on flowing,
a tiny turning cloud of silt
on the bed of a spring
where silent water gushed.
It was a source in perfect balance
so the more it flowed
the more it drew forth.

And the old bulldozer in the mind,
parked up now, ticked quietly,
happy just to exist.
And the old forest
breathed on its hillside,
and the very mud was peace itself.

– Henry Shukman