Among the starry schemes, the bright
Plateaus and cloudy cornices,
A master and his pupil made
Their way towards the dragon’s grot.
As both the sage and pupil fought
To climb the craggy mountain tops,
A storm descended on the twain
With howling gales and scowling rains.
In fear, and desperate for rest –
sweet solace from the storm – the boy
Sought shelter in the dark defiles;
He quickly found a narrow space.
“Let us take shelter in those recesses,
The elements are stern tonight.
“Let us make fire and gather round
The warmth, until the storm subsides.”
Although still eager to ascend,
The master did agree to rest.
They made their way towards a cave,
Which offered them a place to hide.
Alone, and sheltered from the storm
They lit a fire to warm their limbs.
The humble flames crackled away;|
The elements raged on outside.
The master peered across the fire –
He watched the student pondering.
And not a sound was heard, save for
The crackling of the humble flames.
Amid the calm, the student raised
His head and met the master’s eyes.
The old sage sat there silently,
His eyes shimmered across the flames.
“What most men fear more than the storm
Is the quiet,” declared the sage.
He stood up, then both the sage
And pupil walked into the storm.