Collective gesticulations
Slow and glittery moves
Imitating a myth,
Worshiping habits,
This is not Zen
This is not my practice.
Simply sitting ?
Very little sitting, and scarce simplicity.
Paintings to hang on the wall,
Scenes to relate…
Solitary practice, denigrated from every angle,
Is a sure safeguard against slippery slopes.
A swing of a pick further,
Crossing the night : one step, another step.
And water starts springing.
It will flow down the valley.
Solitude opens the doors to intimacy.
The sound of creasing robes
Scramble the pilgrim’s soul,
Lost in the mist of others.
At the back of my garden,
I sit
And listen to the sound of water
Franck Joseph
©FJ Sept. 2021 – All Rights Reserved
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Notes & Silence 