There are times in a life,Crossroads in the nights,When the energies passing throughCan be upsettingly violent. The practice of Zazen, sitting meditation, Creates conditions for
One of them, caughtBetween my fingers, staredFor what it is. They’re all out at nightPassing through my inner skyAll different in speed, shape and brightnessBut
The breathing pump is deepening its movementsLower, lowerI can hear the dim questions rising from withinI can see the mind slightly starting to driftAway, at
The writing process is never complex. This does not mean anything.The complexity lies in the processes that the writer describes, not in the writing itself.
Would there be anyone to tell me or show me in which fold from the Big Consciousness Cloth I have once again let myself be
It is often said that, to each ‘external’ sense, correspond an inner version. This can be verified by anyone devoting themselves long enough, or benefitting