The force of conditioning, launched from incalculable eras
Is relentless.
It determines the reality of each and everyone.
At every moment, however, we have the freedom to get,
to see its flow being emptied of its driving force,
To witness the disintegration of the mechanisms of this reality.
In the corridor of Samsara, the door to nirvana is always open.
Yet, this door of awakening, often remains inaccessible.
The man in pain, the ignorant man, endlessly walks past the door, and does not perceive it.
At no time does this door change.
It appears in the sight of the wandering man, thanks to an inappreciable pivoting of the gaze.
Under the shimmer of the inner candle,
By the play of shadows,
Man opens to the presence of a door in the wall of sadness.
Lighting a wick in a dreary hallway, damp and cold,
Where howling drafts rush into,
With hands joined at the heart,
Protect the fragile flame.
As soon as it goes out, sit down again,
Get grounded and rub together
Stones, matches and twigs picked up along the way,
Allow the flame to appear,
Sit further and keep silent
Feed the faith,
This is the practice of a being
On the Way of the Buddha
Notes & Silence 
Sometimes, we forget, I think, the lure of pain, the romance – as it appears – of the distractions of this world.
What you term « suffering » may be no more than the romantic notion of the damaged man’s endurance.
It is not ignorance that binds, perhaps, but a strange, maybe innate, desire to be that which has no ultimate value. The irony of wanting to be that which is not desirable.
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