Open-Sky Monastery

I enter meditation as one enters the monastery.
The outer racing tracks has ceased to raise any interest in me.

I saw through it.
Burning,
Burning the body,
Coming back and burning some more.

The witherings of hands seeking to feel, to hold and no longer achieving anything,
The decadence of the sculptor’s possibilities while the material remains intact, and the tools have become ineffective,
Although sharpened to the last wheel turn.

I enter meditation as one enters the monastery.
The open eye and the bitterness of tears overcome.

Meditation perceived as an external activity,
through which one seeks to be, to radiate, to finally become this one, that one,
Whether we confess it or not,
Is just one more word without difference with the rest of the world, just as illusory and just as much a promise of suffering.

One must have drowned in illusion and drunk from the bitter cup of suffering,
Really seeing: the bitterness and haze, the destruction of tissues, and the endless wandering,

To enter meditation.
Emptied of all these projections, the practice can begin.
Meditation colors the whole life and is not a salient activity,

Whether it stands in silence, noise, shadow or light, does not matter in the least.

©ndraw@protonmail.com – Dec 2022
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