XXIII. No Justice, Only Retribution

As I sit, awaiting my sentence and burdened with the conditions of crime and punishment, more frivolous then the never-ending cycle encased in karma, this courtroom appears to me as oblivious to the Dharma. Innocent or guilty, each one makes obvious the way when it is pursued; the one path is clearest when one stands upon it and looks out upon its vastness. Never ending. I have no recollection of the Buddha speaking on Justice. The gateless gate hits me on the way in and on the way out, making my feet walk surer of their step, the number of footprints is endless. If I can have but one twirling flower then this purposed cell will be no different then this prison. Though restraints may be more defined, my meditations on liberation will know a greater range. My realization more encompassing, composed next to the lines of the Chinese classics. I am allowed to be a multitude of things by the grace of the precepts. My jewels become as dirty as the water that their placed in, and no stone polisher dare admit that. Would one dare to take the time to polish every menacing edge on the mountain, to smooth it out for the appeal of the stone polishers crafty beady eyes? He who looks on and smiles, at the work of his disciples and waits for them to yell out in frustration and give up earnestly, the true lesson then revealed to them. As the gates to the pureland open, first for my jailers to deny, no justice, only retribution. One student stays, polishing with his flesh and becomes an even more jagged mountain. The stone polisher smiles, and blows the dust from a pebble he holds between his fingers, with no one except a mountain to understand his grace.

Namu Amida Butsu

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