Burning the small dead branches broke from beneath thick spreading whitebark pine. A hundred summers snowmelt rock and air hiss in a twisted bough.

I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of 'em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also by being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures.

Nature is orderly. That which appears to be chaotic in nature is only a more complex kind of order.

I thought, that day I started, I sure would hate to do this all my life, And dammit, that’s just what I’ve gone and done.

Zen aims at freedom but its practice is disciplined.

The other side of the "sacred" is the sight of your beloved in the underworld, dripping with maggots.

All this new stuff goes on top turn it over, turn it over wait and water down from the dark bottom turn it inside out let it spread through Sift down even. Watch it sprout. A mind like compost.