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
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
Sensibility simply isSensibility is, simply. The actualization of therapeutic effectsCan never be learned in books or courses This may come as bad news For status-lovers
How unskillful that is,Using others’ errant ways to cover our own wanderings,to take the blanket they would like us to tuck them in with,and try
But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For
Oddly enough, this note was written in December 2019, in a time when ‘lockdown’ referred more to sci-fi movies or exciting video games atmosphere than
There was something puzzled in me When you spoke, when you moved I would wait, further back, And then I understood. Your automatic cues, picked
Meditating to the point of ego-nyModern meditative practices leave people dried up.Enthusiasts, at first, they later become swollen with an egotic liquid.While convinced they move
Sometimes, the feeling of bliss is so prevailing that I barely dare tothink about, say or do anything, for fear that I might break something
Words fell off his mouth…Off his mouth, like a ripe fruitOr a milk tooth, pushed downBy the adult one, From his life, Blew the sound
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.
Studying Buddhism, practicing the DharmaSuddenly discovering that anger can be droppedFor there is no one left to resent, no one to be mad at,No one