The pages filling please me.
I write to no end: The traces of doing gratify without reward apart from the doing itself, stroking to the drop-off.
Writing to no end/écrire sans fin
About the Author: zenscribe
Enseignante Zen et poète, Sensei Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell est née et a grandi à Minneapolis, aux Etats-Unis. Arrivée en France en 1981 pour étudier la littérature et l’histoire, elle y est restée, s’installant à Paris, où elle élève ses deux enfants et gagne sa vie en tant que journaliste.
The Zen teacher and poet Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell Sensei was born and raised in Minneapolis, but came to France in 1981 to study literature and history and has lived in Paris ever since, raising her two children and making a living as a journalist.
But what if someone does not slam the door, asks me to come in and have a cup of coffee instead? How will I explain my behaviour?
I could talk about the spell.
"In order to be free we must break the spell of phenomena, including this subclass of phenomena we call “me’ and “mine”, including the spells of identification, of love and hate, of desire and fear.
We can start dissolving our greatest angers and fears, our most destructive desires, by living a life of moral discipline.
But sure enough we will soon be under the spell of moral purity and our moral superiority.
We can start making our minds peaceful and still, gradually, in a natural way, by practicing non-judgmental introspection.
Possibly we will find ourselves under the spell of the beauty of our minds and become meditation-junkies.
We may grow smarter and recognize the many forms of slavery. Recognize the many subtle shapes of phenomena and the various types of spell we are under.
(The spell of our wisdom and superiour insight.)
It will be like a fog slowly lifting, revealing the true colors of not-a-thing."
Bodhidharma traveled to China just to sit there facing the wall.
He could have done that in India. It makes no sense.
What if we bring the Glad Tidings of Zen door to door?
Earn some merit.
Save all sentient beings.
“Hi there! Listen!
I never rang the bell.
You never opened the door.
At this very moment I don’t speak and you don’t listen.
What do you make of this?”
Slamming the door would be appropriate, I suppose.
Bring me your mind, and I will pacify it for you, Bodhidharma said, and it worked.
But he waited nine years for that opportunity.
Sory, that came in twice, hahahgach..Didn’t mean to, don’no what happened..A religion that has as its mascotte, or whatever you call that, a broad laughing fat guy, cannot be taken seriously..Or can it ? Just an opinion..Gaghagh..
I mean, ask anyone in the West, or in the East, "What is Buddha?" and 99 per cent will answer the big guy in the Chinese restaurant..
The remaining One percent may say " Toilet paper.."or " Two pounds of cotton.." Who makes sense of that..? We need you Sensei..!
Again, as Bernie said:" Any One not Present here, raise your hand.." Gaghaghgh..
Was hopin’ someone would say:
"Everything matters, the asshole is holy",
Art is a matter of taste, straw dogs don’t give a shit..
in the eye of the beholder,and quite useless indeed..
Call it Art, call it not-Art,
a bit like Zen..
A game of words
We die alone, whether or not we meet the Unborn..
Was hopin’ someone would say:
"Everything matters, the asshole is holy",
Art is a matter of taste, straw dogs don’t give a shit..
in the eye of the beholder,and quite useless indeed..
Call it Art, call it not-Art, a bit like Zen..
A game of words
We die alone, whether or not we meet the Unborn..
Heaven and Earth are impartial
They regard myriad things as straw dogs
The sages are impartial
They regard people as straw dogs
The space between Heaven and Earth
Is it not like a bellows?
Empty, and yet never exhausted
It moves, and produces more
These phrases from Lao Tzu seem to be in line with "You don’t matter. I don’t matter" and "The matter of art is no-art" or "He just got up every day and did it", don’t you think?
Life’s beautiful truth has no name.
Suddenly, with your question, you made it all worthwhile.
You don’t matter. I don’t matter.
When you and I accept to not matter, then we can experience what truly matters: you and I and everyone, everywhere, every moment.
Art for the sake of art is not art, just as me for the sake of me is not who I truly am.
The matter of art is no-art.
When André Breton asked him what is art, Giacometti replied: « C’est une coquille blanche dans une bassine d’eau. » (It’s a white shell in a basin of water.)
He knew it was an impossible undertaking, like trying to grasp space or stop time. He just got up every day and did it.
That’s life’s beautiful truth.
Art for the sake of art ?
Hello!
I am reading this!
Do I matter at all?
Ting