On The Threshold Of Sitting

What the three strokes on the singing bowl teach me
On the threshold of sitting
The way they baptize the moment,
With which they bless the present,
How they sanctify the universe,
The way the sound pierces the layers of my being
To wrap around my heart,

The way none of this really happens,
The way all this actually happens
Upstream and downstream the sound from the bowl,
The way nothing is more important,
The way it does not matter, eventually,

I can’t write about it.
If I write it, it is no more,
If I don’t, it keeps flowing,
Without really having been at all.

If I hadn’t written it for so long,
Would it ever have reached my inner ear ?

What the three strokes of the singing bowl teach me,
I cannot write it.
Yet there is nothing else I wish to write,
Nothing more worth writing about.

©FJ June 2022
Groupe de Pratique

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