This is an old post dating back from 2018 Though it feels like I wrote it more than a decade ago I now find it
This is an old post dating back from 2018 Though it feels like I wrote it more than a decade ago I now find it
Poetry,The poetic mind,Can also be a sensibility which ends up penning the poet in spiritual drowsiness.From that point, the poetically inclined mind will dig to
Spirituality : The way up, out of our misery.Art, here, can be spiritual.Art, literature, craftsmanship, daily life in general : anything landing between our hands,
There is an aroma for every soul,Something in the air,Unrelated to age or experiences,A deeper connection, ahead of it all Some fragrances suit us, let’s
What is paramount is to perceive the sameness of teachings behind the various talks and ‘reports’ made available by mystics or masters.The lexical packaging is
Very old note, among scribbles at the bottom of digital boxes 🙂 Really, the greatest gift we can offer someone is space (Thich Nhat Hanh)
At Zazen RestaurantThe menu reads : ‘Beauty, Peace and Joy’Eat in or take away ? Franck Joseph©FJ March 2021- All rights reserved.Articles are available in book and
Zazen is the room you go to When you want to cry tears of solitude,Or despair, tears of rage.You enter the room and pour out
This is a re-post of some notes taken 6 years ago.As I am currently working on the publication of a book in English I’ve been
A dry meditationReveals how deeply trapped we’ve allowed ourselves to become In ideas, both barren and fertile,In unclear, diffuse anxieties,In entertaining chorusesOn childhood and old
God means the bottom of your soul, your most intimate self, as Meister Eckart put it.You can look elsewhere, but be prepared for inconsistencies and
What do I care to ‘look wise’ ?Why would I want to dress with the attire of wisdom ?This sounds like an absurd objective to me. Yet,
Practicing Zazen, just sitting,Is answering ‘mu’ to all questioningsSubtle and non-subtle onesThat are stirring up our minds. By sitting Zazen, we practice ‘not entering’.Sitting on
From the bottom of the nightHe laid a hand on the notebookHolding on to a creviceOn a rocky face of the mountain,A desperate grip to
More than anything elseHe didn’t want to have anything to name. For he knew that, as he would pin a tag to this new phenomenon,He