In the final talk of this four-part series, Sensei Michael Brunner concludes his exploration of Sekitō Kisen’s Song of the Grass-Roof Hermitage — the poem that traces the building, opening, and dissolving of the hermit’s mind of practice.

Having built the hut, opened it to vastness, and rested in stillness, the hermit now turns the light inward and returns to what was never apart. This is the completion of the circle — the end of seeking, the recognition that practice and enlightenment are not two.

Through Sekitō’s closing verses, Sensei reflects on the humility of not-knowing, the intimacy of self-forgetfulness, and the quiet joy of living freely within the very conditions we once tried to escape.

In this episode:
– Turning the light to shine within
– The return to simplicity and ordinariness
– The end of striving and the fullness of now
– The undying person in the hut
– The dissolution of host and guest

Recorded live during sesshin at One River Zen, this talk completes the Postcards from Sesshin series — reminding us that awakening is not found elsewhere, but right here in the skin bag of our own fleeting life.

I’ve built a grass hut where there’s nothing of value.
After eating, I relax and enjoy a nap.

When it was completed, fresh weeds appeared.
Now it’s been lived in—and it’s covered with weeds.

The person in the hut lives here calmly,
Not stuck to inside, outside, or in between.

Places worldly people live, he doesn’t live.
Realms worldly people love, he doesn’t love.

Though the hut is small, it includes the entire world.
In ten square feet, an old man illumines forms and their nature.

A great vehicle Bodhisattva trusts without doubt.
The middling or lowly can’t help wondering;
Will this hut perish or not?

Perishable or not, the original master is present,
Not dwelling south or north, east or west.
Firmly based on steadiness, it can’t be surpassed.

A shining window below the green pines—
Jade palaces or vermilion towers can’t compare.

Just sitting with head covered, all things are at rest.
Thus, this mountain monk doesn’t understand at all.

Living here, he no longer works to get free.
Who would proudly arrange seats, trying to entice guests?

Turn around the light to shine within,
Then just return.

The vast inconceivable source can’t be faced or turned away from.
Meet the ancestral teachers; be familiar with their instructions.
Bind grasses to build a hut and don’t give up.

Let go of hundreds of years and relax completely.
Open your hands and walk, innocent.

Thousands of words, myriad interpretations,
Are only to free you from obstructions.

If you want to know the undying person in the hut,
Don’t separate from this skin bag here and now.

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