Two-hundred years ago, in Japan, there lived a Buddhist nun named Rengetsu.
Her life as a nun began tragically after her husband and young children had died. To support herself she worked as a potter and a poet. Her exquisite poetry gained her instant fame. She soon found herself moving from one home to another, trying to avoid the constant press of admirers and customers.
Her poetry was so beautiful, the Emperor named her Patron Saint of the Arts. She earned a great amount of money from her art, but she never held on to any of it. She gave her income to those who needed it more. More than a few times she left the warm kimono she was wearing to a shivering street beggar.
When a robber entered her home during the night, she lit a lamp to help him see. She then fixed the thief a cup of hot tea while inviting him to discuss his desperate situation.
Rengetsu said she moved like "a cloud blown by a fierce wind."
Her poems are fresh with images of journeys through forests and mountains.
On a pilgrimage to a remote temple she spent one day traveling without coming to a single village. At last, at dusk, she came to a tiny village on a riverbank. She knocked at the door of the small inn and humbly asked for a night's lodging. But the inn was full.
As she rested in the yard of the inn, stars appeared in the darkening sky. The village grew steadily more quiet. The sounds of families enjoying their suppers faded into those of people preparing for the night.
Rengetsu was tired, but not discouraged. She remembered earlier seeing an abandoned orchard as she was approaching the village. She retraced her steps and found the orchard. The grass was lush and soft.
She found a comfortable spot under a cherry tree and bedded down for the night.
In the middle of the night. she sensed a bright light touching her face. She opened her eyes and saw a beautiful full moon in the cloudless sky. Above her head thousands of cherry blossoms held bright moonlight in their petaled cups.
It was all so beautiful Rengetsu gasped. She stood and bow to the village in thanksgiving for this unexpected gift: a gift of flowers and moonlight far more meaningful than a comfortable night in a bed.
The nun then composed a poem:
Through their
Kindness in refusing
Me lodging,
I found myself
Beneath the
Beautiful blossoms
On the night of the
Misty moon.
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