Breathing is the thread poking out,The one on which you drawTo reach back to the Spirit. Franck Joseph©FJ Jan 2021- All rights reserved.Articles are available
Breathing is the thread poking out,The one on which you drawTo reach back to the Spirit. Franck Joseph©FJ Jan 2021- All rights reserved.Articles are available
Guilt can sometimes be a strategy to divert ourselves from mindfulness practices.It therefore becomes the support for yet another wild journey of inner sensations. Guilt
Letting life unfold means des-inventing ourselves.Day in, day out, allowing the densified clusters of our emulated personality To crumble back to dust, enjoying the winds
All along these pages of practice,I could say that successive layers of paint appear…The yellowish ego starts showing through.Could it all be painted with the
We have let the Spirit pass throughWithout tying ends together,Or trying to hoard anything. The wind flows freelyWhen rooms have open windows Franck Joseph©FJ Jan
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 ball has bounced on my side of the netAnd I’ve hit it back.In a snap, I kept the game going.The only thing I had
Every move, gently made is an offering to the world; Laying a cup, filling it, floating on the waves of existence. Ordinary brutality is an
My dear friend,The transparency of your sensitivenessIs never a discomfort to you. Here, again, you are teaching me.The clarity, the immediacy of the truth in
Limiting all inner life phenomena to our the activity of the mind, is having an ideological perspective as well as a fragmentary experience of the
Even though Silence, in essence, is one,It encompasses many degrees It all begins with the silence of discomfort,When the very first holes widen their outer
At the center of our Heart,Intimate intimacyThe reflection of God,Most precious place and all-out giving,Unveiled otherness and revealed Nature Franck Joseph©FJ Dec. 2020 – All
The tools held at our disposal, by eastern traditions as well as systems from which they derive, do not open on any experience of transcendence…
Breathing in, Breathing out,Thoughts have their own cycles.Suddenly, one disappears and the next one does not arise.A bit of waiting, it does not come. The
Trapped in this urban fiction, cutting them off from nature and thereby creating the « environment » as a by-product of their fictitious extraction, human beings, through