>>13239965looks like what i want my retirement to be.
a dilapidated place in a forest where i can go spend my last decades in meditation before death. here's an old zen poem along these lines.
Song of the Grass Roofed Hermitage
by Shitou Xiqian (Sekito Kisen; 700-790)
I built a grass hut where there’s nothing of
value. After it was completed, fresh weeds
appeared.
Now it is lived in covered by weeds.
After eating, I relax and enjoy a nap.
The person in the hut lives here calmly,
not stuck to inside, outside, or in-between.
Places worldly people live, he does not live.
Realms worldly people love, she does not
love. Though the hut is small, it includes the
entire world.
In ten feet square, an old man illumines forms
and their nature. Thus, this bodhisattva trusts
without doubt.
The middling or lowly can't help wondering;
Will this hut perish or not? Perishable or not,
the original master is present,
Not dwelling south or north, east or west.
Firmly based on steadiness,
it can not be surpassed.
A shining window below the green pines –
jade palaces or vermilion towers can't compare.
Just sitting with head covered
all things are at rest. Thus, this mountain monk
does not understand at all.
Living here she no longer works to get free.
Who would proudly arrange seats,
trying to entice guests?
Turn the light to shine within, then just return.
The vast inconceivable source can not be
faced or turned away from.
Meet the ancestral teachers,
be intimate with their instructions,
bind grasses to build a hut,
and do not give up.
Let go of hundreds of years and relax
completely. Open your hands and walk,
innocently.
Thousands of words, myriad interpretations,
are only to free you from obstructions.
If you want to know the undying person
in the hut, do not separate from this skin bag here and now.
