Verse 49
The hermit left the city because every bell there told him what hour he ought to be.
The hermit left the city because every bell there told him what hour he ought to be.
In the hills he discovered hunger kept better time.
He sat beneath a bare tree and waited for revelation.
Snow came first.
He called the snow an obstacle.
Then he called it a teaching.
Then, embarrassed by both names, he fetched wood.
Years passed, and people climbed the hill to ask what he had learned.
He said, I learned to stop converting weather into messages about myself.
They were disappointed.
So he added, The Absolute is beyond cold and heat.
They wrote that down and ignored the first sentence.
A cat moved into his hut and refused metaphysics.
It slept through meditation, hunger, thunder, and one minor miracle.
The hermit envied it until he noticed envy was another performance.
Awareness needs no posture.
Silence needs no mountain.
Solitude needs no witness to certify it.
One evening Saturn appeared between clouds.
The hermit looked once, then returned to washing the bowl.
Nothing was rejected.
Nothing was required.
That was the closest he came to a sermon.
After his death the visitors built a large gate around the path.
The cat walked around it.