I might forsake the farm and leave every tree I ever planted for “notebooks, novels, no plans” like she says. But then, we still have to eat don’t we? It is a tricky thing this body requiring fuel. So poets envy plants. Green at their chlorophyll. Plants and sun-staring yogis. Bodhisattvas that sit so long they’re wrapped like mummies and turn into statues still sitting there. Taking a breath once every year so small and thin that dust doesn’t move and the ashes have nowhere to go.
– Master Seung Sahn
Painting: Orchard with Blossoming Plum Trees, 1888 – Vincent van Gogh