tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078766279497161945.post1784721451615579574..comments2024-03-19T11:45:36.667-05:00Comments on Minh Tánh Nguyễn Duy Nhiên: dội trong sương mùMinh Tánh Nguyễn Duy Nhiênhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14657133254366629781noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078766279497161945.post-33296430713637741192018-10-28T01:31:53.940-05:002018-10-28T01:31:53.940-05:00Âm thanh của sự lặng yên. Yêu quá bài viết này. Âm thanh của sự lặng yên. Yêu quá bài viết này. nguyenlambotat@gmail.comhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15800056508305614650noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078766279497161945.post-81963327316226944732018-08-31T07:05:34.849-05:002018-08-31T07:05:34.849-05:00Does the falling leaf echo in the fog?
Translated ...Does the falling leaf echo in the fog?<br />Translated into English<br />by nguyễn hồ kim ngân<br /><br />There are those days that after the rain, the front porch would appear several soaking wet maple leaves glued to the gray concrete like the color leaf fossils. I'd walk into the yard when dawn has yet to make its full appearance, listening to the stillness and freshness of a foggy morning. Sometime beyond my awareness, the woods close by the house has been slowly changing with the season. Autumn passes by - quietly, synchronizing with the earth's rotation. Then, all of a sudden, winter comes, starting with a snowy day. One morning, outside the window, the sky and ground get covered in pure whiteness.<br /><br />I find stillness in a Zen garden - without blemishes. I find stillness on a bookshelf with the books neatly arranged. A moonlight streams through the window, by a sutra page on the desk. But stillness, I think, does not mean the lack of motions. As I enter the meditation center, I find that we can create stillness among the chanting, the sounds of the chiming bell, the neatly arranged cushions; stillness in the flickering candles in a dim early morning light, and in each of our meditating step. These motions create an intimate and protecting space for stillness.<br /><br />However, stillness is not an absolute silence; it is not the absence of sound. There are people who would feel stillness as they stroll on the beach listening to the crashing waves, or sitting by a river in the sound of the flowing water, or watching autumn changing colors on the mountain, or enjoying the snowflakes by the window. You can feel stillness on a road trip back to your hometown listening to an old song in an evening among the rice paddies. Or nothing can bring one into a deep stillness like the sound of sutra chanting echoing in the mountains in the foggy mornings...<br /><br />Mr. Thoreau recalled the time living in solitude by Walden Pond. He could hear the sound of the corn growing in the night, of the seasons following each other... I also find stillness in the poetry lines or the Zen songs. I hear stillness on the piano keyboard - silent between the notes; stillness portrayed by the embroidered pictures, on the calligraphy works hung on the wall.<br /><br />Upon your return after many centuries<br />Would you still see the moon’s original color?<br />I am parting with a few lines<br />Does the falling leaf echo in the fog?<br />(Bùi Giáng)<br /><br />Can you find stillness in those lines?<br /><br />"Does the falling leaf echo in the fog?" - This line is similar to a Zen koan, "If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" Perhaps we do not need an answer because in Zen koans the questions themselves are more important.<br /><br />Sow this question inside us and answer it with stillness: "Does the falling leaf echo in the fog?" I try to listen and hear the birds singing, the wind blowing, the leaves changing colors, the clouds drifting by, the sound of the evening sunlight lingering in the air despite the sun has long set... In stillness, there is the sound of a leaf gently falling, and the universe appears to be more boundless.<br />Minh Tánh Nguyễn Duy Nhiênhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14657133254366629781noreply@blogger.com