When you are cleaning,
what becomes of the dirt?
When you are bathing,
what becomes of the water?
When you exhale,
what becomes of the breath?
When the moon disappears
is the moon truly gone?
When you ask your teacher,
what becomes of the question?
If you sit quietly on the mat
and do not think of this,
what becomes of you?

A reflection on Case 21 of the Book of Equanimity ( 従容錄, Shōyōroku)