Up on Mount Hiei, who is the enemy of the Dharma? If I can name it, then I am equally to blame, If I cant then I am a fool with no Buddha-nature. Ignorance and innocence, separate notions, complete for validity. Scorched earth, defaced Kami of the mountain. Up here, only me and Thích Quảng Đức practice as Sōhei. Him with his prayer beads and I with my twirling flower. He says the name nine times and on the tenth a lit match emerges. Nobunagas inferno. Isn’t hell such an innovative phenomena? No monk cries out as he is cut down. My flower would blissfully defend the dharma against hundreds of samurai. With charred bones to become the gates to Amidas paradise and all that is left are these tattered robes and rusting armour. There is no more friend or enemy here when everything becomes indistinguishable. The crows clean all the bones, the sun bleaches them white, and a light snow covers up the battlefield and turns it into a hillside.
Namu Amida Butsu