Last night in the garden, back after sitting, after the joy of picking up new where we had left off weeks – an eternity – ago, there between branches heavy with leaves, the bright moon fails to hide what it cannot: itself.
This morning, where the moon once rose, now thin clouds are spread, cast with the pink light of sun coming up on their tender underbellies: Day, too, has no disguise.
And me, like my poet ancestor Basho, morning and night I strive moment to moment to « learn to listen as things speak for themselves. »
Learning to listen
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.
Just like Amy’s not thinking what is seen: by not thinking what is listened!
Reminds me of Nisargadatta’s brutal invitation: "The death of the mind is the birth of wisdom". Which is the same as Adyashanti’s "Don’t believe a single thought". If it just weren’t too confortable and familiar (self-reinforcing) to stay enmeshed in thought…
Or the Portuguese Pavement in this city… As I said last weekend to my girlfriend: Streets, buildings, rocks, pavement, air – they all are speaking and breathing and telling so many stories. I just have to pay attention and listen.
I like it.. so much for birds ..I hear say pebbles speak the Dharma and I want to learn to listen..
Everytime a orchestra is playing. Just listen… Now, as I write these words, birds outside, in the trees, sing their everyday song welcoming a new morning.
The birds are singing and me is listening or is it the other way around?