Ryokan lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of the mountain.
One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing to steal in it.
Ryokan returned and caught him. “You may have come a long way to visit me,” he told the prowler,
“and you should not return empty-handed. Please take my clothes as a gift.”
The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away.
Ryokan sat naked, watching the moon.
“Poor fellow,” he mused, “I wish I could give him this beautiful moon.”
source: Reps. P. (n.d.). Zen flesh, Zen bones. Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, p. 12. Ryokan (1758-1831), Japanese poet and calligrapher. image: www.zenbrush.com
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