In this episode, my AI voice replica recites poetry. I also collaborated with an AI powerhouse to reimagine Robert Frost's "Mending Wall." Together, we illuminate the boundaries between worlds.

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I was outside in the yard today fixing my bamboo fence, the same bamboo where I met Buddha.

The wind tears openings in the bamboo every once in a while. I patch these holes up using wire.

As I was doing this today, I started thinking of Robert Frost's poem 'Mending Wall."

I realized that my swaying bamboo barrier serves the same soul-purpose as Frost's stone wall—though mine bends with the wind rather than tumbling down. I started imagining how differently Frost might have written his poem if he was working with "flexible emerald sentinels instead of cold stones, and feeling somehow connected to an ancient human tradition of creating harmony through thoughtful separation."

I gave the AI a prompt that brought out more of my own perspective, how the idea of the poem is related to Buddhism. What it created is truly awesome. I made some edits to help evoke what i was envisioning. I made heavy edits on the second version.

So here's the first version. It's written more in the style of Robert Frost. It's called "Mending Bamboo."

Mending Bamboo

Something there is that doesn't love a fence,

That sends the wind to bend and crack the canes,

And spills the weathered culms across the path;

And makes gaps even deer can wander through.

The work of storms is another thing: I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stalk standing straight,

But they would have the laurel leaves exposed,

To sway and tremble bare.

The breaks I mean,

No one has seen them formed or heard them snap, But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I gather fallen bamboo from the ground; And on a day I work to mend the line

And set the fence around my garden once again.

I weave the stalks together as I go.

To each the bamboo that has grown too tall.

And some are flexible and some too stiff I have to bend them gently into place:

'Stay where you are until the binding holds!' I wear my fingers raw with bamboo splinters.

Oh, just another kind of meditation, Self to self.

It comes to something more: Here where it stands I truly need this fence: The bamboo shields the laurel from the world.

My laurel trees will flourish safe within And find their peace behind bamboo, I know. I often think, 'Good bamboo makes good shelter.'

Spring is the wisdom in me, and I ponder As I align each culm with careful hands:

Why does this barrier bring me such peace?

It's not just plants I'm guarding with my work. Before I built this fence I came to know

What I was guarding in my inner garden, And from what storms I sought to find relief.

Something there is that understands a shield,

That wants it strong. I could say 'Buddha' to myself,

But it's not doctrine exactly, and I'd rather

Feel it emerge from silence. I see myself here

Binding a cane secured firmly by the base

In steady hands, like an ancient sage at practice.

I move in stillness as it seems to me,

Not of avoidance but of mindful presence.

I will not hide behind dead metaphors,

And I like having understood it now so well I think again, 'This bamboo fence protects what's precious.'

Ok, so now we're done reading the first version of the poem. Here's version two, now with a fresh coat of paint. It's called

Emerald Sentinels

My fence of bamboo sways with the wind,

While stalks bow and break beneath the sun.

Through hidden gaps the deer slip in,

To feast on laurel leaves they've come.

I've arrived to mend what the wind has crushed,

Where once proud stalks stood straight and tall.

These breaches form without a sound, No crack or snap to mark their birth.

Yet when spring unfolds its vibrant green,

I find their passage through my earth.

I pick up stalks from where they fell;

And spend a day to fix the fence

I weave the stalks as I go. Each one gets the canes that grew on their side. Some bend like reeds and some stay stiff

I need to ease them into place: 'Stay put until the ties are set!' My hands get rough from sharp bamboo.

It's just a form of zen, you see,

No meaning,

no good, no bad.

No polarities…

But, why am I fixing this flexible emerald boundary, anyway?

To protect the laurel's leaves. Yes, of course.

However.

"Plants are non-dualistic," I think. And by helping them, I partake in the non-duality of mother nature.

Ahhh, me with my thoughts.

The bamboo means much more:

These stalks form a shield for the green plant.

My laurel grows safe in this space

And finds peace behind strong canes, I know. I think, 'Strong fence makes safe place.'

Why does this screen bring such deep peace?

Like Zen, it can't be put into words.

This thought I think.

Can't be described…

Only experienced.

I guard more than plants with this bamboo mending work.

Before I built this fence, I knew what parts of my soul I kept safe, and what harsh storms I allowed in.

Something knows the need for shields,

Wants them strong.

I could say 'Zen ways,' But it's more than that,

and I choose to let truth rise from the calm.

I get out of my head for a moment,

The wounds have been sealed with my patient hands,

Silent sentinels awakened.

We share this quiet awareness,

Two beings bending, not breaking.

In each mended crack, a story; In each healed stem, a teacher.

The fence remembers what it knows: To bend with storms yet hold its ground,

Just as I, the mender, learn to yield and strengthen all at once.