Tonight I am recalling how the snow fell not so long ago on cars and trees and stairs and streets in my neighborhood, and how the chill made my boots creak. It was all here. But it might have been another continent or year, for now there is no snow here and the bite has gone from the air.
More news arrives of endless tragedy in Haiti. And although I am « here » and not « there, » Haiti is also my neighborhood, its people are my people. I live on the same earth as they do, that same earth that shook our common « world. »
I like one of Chogyam Trungpa’s statements about compassion:
« It implies larger-scale thinking, a freer and more expansive way of relating to yourself and the world. »
One neighborhood
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.
every night i have been chanting to my neighborhood. i dont know if anyone listens or not, but that is not important. i listen to myself chanting and i listen to all the sounds and cries of the world. i become that. in my room, every night, my practice becomes the world. it happens.
yes, in fact it’s being without limits, recognizing that I am without limit.
loving without limits?