When we reach the ultimateIt feels distinctively November. Cold wind blows north north-east. Water is dark gray in bay. Dock floats are out. Patio furniture, whisked to cedar garden before remnants of hurricane Noel last week, have been trucked by Jim out to hermitage. Everyone is somewhere else today.
Stillness, we joyfully become
Aware that this mind of ours
Is empty, without any things,
And extends infinitely in all
Directions. It is something
Like the eternal sky,
In which clouds and wind circulate
Without stopping or reaching an end.
It is something like the vast ocean,
Where fish and dragons undergo
Transformations without gaps
It has no inside or outside that can
Be pointed to, no motion or
Stillness that can be separated.
From ancient to modern, it all forms
A single whole.
As the saying goes, it is nowhere
- Luo Hongxian (1504-1564)
Woman buys Eliade's Shamanism. Sam planes swollen screen door. Theresa readies for open house at Wellness Center. I move used classical cds to consolidation boxes. Use old box for teas, hanging it from beam by refrigerator. Count change from blue teapot and put $40 dollars rent donation coins into cash register.
I don't know much.
There is only this.
I have no idea about next or before.
Only what is between, only (as Meister Eckhart said): Life without the reason why.
Can't figure: world without end; war without end.
The joy of each stick of wood (placed and) perfectly itself.
Seems my practice.