Zen Ox Herding

Heavily influenced by Taoism, the Zen Ox Herding poems are a parable for the journey to enlightenment–the Ox serving as a metaphor for the differentiated ego. I offer a reverently edited version of a new translation by Lewis Hyde for your amusement.

I:  Searching for the Ox

Alone in the deep woods, searching in darkness.

Flood-swollen rivers, mountains beyond mountains,

The trail endless and unchanging.

Bone-tired, heart-weary, the search seems hopeless.

II: Seeing the Traces

In the woods, along the riverbank, strange marks all around.

What has bent the sweet grass down just there?

The deepest canyons, the highest peaks–

Nothing can hide the imprint of the Ox.

III: Finding the Ox

The meadowlark sings, sitting on a branch.

Warm sun, light breeze, green willows by the river.

The Ox stands right there;

Where could it hide?

IV: Catching the Ox

He holds the rope with all his might,

The Ox is two-thousand pounds of old habit.

One moment it runs to the high meadows,

Then gets lost in fog-bound river bottoms.

V: Taming the Ox

Without the whip and rope near at hand,

The Ox will soon seek out the nearest muddy wallow.

But, care for it properly and it becomes gentle.

Following willingly, the rope gone slack.

VI:  Riding Home

Riding home on the back of the Ox, he is in no hurry.

Evening mist absorbs the flute tones.

Their harmony carries his heart to the horizon line.

Grass alone is not what keeps this Ox alive.

VII: Ox Forgotten

Arriving home, the Ox disappears.

He sits by himself, content.

His reverie does not bear the marks of time.

The rope and whip lie forgotten.

VIII:  Self and Ox Forgotten

Empty whip, empty rope, empty Ox, empty human being.

"The vast blue sky" is not at all the vast blue sky.

Think of snow falling on a blazing fire.

Just there the spirit of the ancient masters is fully present.

IX:   Back to the Beginning

Seeking the Source, the One True Origin: why all this hard work?

Better to stay at home as if ears and eyes had never opened.

He sits in the cabin. There is nothing to seek beyond the gate.

The streams flow and flowers open, vividly red.

X:  Entering the Village Bestowing Bliss

Barefoot, he walks into the villiage.

Dusty, spattered with mud, how broadly he grins!

He has no need of magic powers.

Near him the withered trees come into bloom again.