The first words that come are: « I don’t know. » And then there are others: « the cat purrs, » « what time is it? » « keep looking, » and more and more and more…
I back up, return to the first words again. Or is that I am moving ahead? Or maybe not forward or back, but rather « I » am right here, with the words that arrive now?
Now: the day was busy. Now: much activity, not much to « show » for it – some final touches on a manuscript, cooking, laundry, a few errands done, shared meals, great joy watching video clips from last night’s Oscars with the winning team of « The Artist »!
Now: memory of a haunting newspaper photo a few days ago, showing a wounded man in Homs, Syria, cradling his infant, a 3-month-old boy, who also was wounded in the shelling and died within minutes. The picture, the story, the memory breaks my heart.
Now: memory of a moment during a visit to Jerusalem 11 years ago, a guide pointing out the olive grove from which Jesus looked down upon the teeming city and wept. An hour later, at the Western Wall with two dear dharma friends, Frank and Renata, my own warm tears came, the only possible response to the world at that moment.
Now: the only response tonight, the most intimate response, is I don’t know, again and again.
I don’t know, again and again
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.
I don’t know either.