Take a good look at the mechanical motor-racing track :The circuit where your mind is trapped.Behind the roar of enginesSit with distant eyesSee those never-ending
Take a good look at the mechanical motor-racing track :The circuit where your mind is trapped.Behind the roar of enginesSit with distant eyesSee those never-ending
I wrote this quick note after listening to the philosopher Michel Foucault, philosopher. What follows does not pretend to be an explanation of his thinking…Just
Authority is connected with abuse. It is the realm of illusions.If you are one of the believers in a natural organization of subtle souls —
On my skin,The glimmer of a candle flameBrings up Savannah.The colors of scrub landSoftly abandonedBy a setting sun. The light changesThe fine lines of timeInto
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,
This life, desensitizedLiterally degenerates,Off-track, astrayGuided by Entropy AlmightyUnder mechanical grindersOf Time. Does it dilute on purpose ?Does it have, eventually, not to beAnyone left to
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
This life, intense, the life that goes to the teenage headThis, life, boundless and explosive, the life moving the child running in laughter, This life,
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
The Buddha taught a disengaged watching of the mind.Any other teaching is not from the Buddha. Franck Joseph©FJ Fev 2021- All rights reserved.Articles are available
Part 1 is available here : Naked Buddha (1/2) Watch the mindNow, watch the one you are. This is your teaching,Your path, your reality. Everything
Like an ageing actor, playing out of tuneAs he tries on poses and reflexes from his brighter years,We sometimes sit a broken zen. Like a
Spaced. One by one, preoccupations dripDown on the water surface From the extreme tip of the stalactiteTo the underground reservoir. In the echoing lapping,true happinesseternally
The colors of life dancing in meAre now blending differently,Delicate glows slowly emergingAnd vividness ready to dim. It is good, it is sad,It is calm