Lodging in the world, the body is like a dream, If one lives in peace, a day can be like a year. Trying to sleep, I toss and turn on the worn out mat, And pace around and around In my tattered monk’s shawl. The Master suggests I make my bed Among the wind and bamboo, And have a drink beside the waters of the rocky spring. A nod of the head, and all worldly affairs seem wrong. Laughing at myself, I understand the wisdom of the Master.