Retreat notes (Malakoff)

We sat asking under a glass roof, « Everyone has a birth place; where is yours? »
Outside, we went step by step halfway down a narrow alley and back. A neighbor entered, and, given pause, quickly was gone without pause.
Regarding the « last word » of Zen, someone offered a contradiction that wasn’t one.
In a lounge chair, the sky was neither near nor far, cloudy nor clear.
Words were circular in the end.
Closely watched, what was it that came and went?
Later, I received embedded electronically a rainbow photographed over the stormy city.
Many thanks.