Who writes - of necessity - teaches.
Often in the morning when I look up into the sky it is as if I am seeing my own face.
Between fast-moving clouds, many stars.
Between the bright stars - each comprised of its own yearning - the night.
Mind dissolves darkness.
There are slow bends in the river.
There is a point in the walk at which sees change: at the cellular level, the energetic level.
Habits bind us to the body.
Repetition binds us.
We can go without no one though folly will forever suggest otherwise.
I forget the four directions.
I forget the spiritual lessons.
Mind is a prism through which the world dissolves into streams of light, each one brighter than the last.
Walking I know it, writing I say it.
As soon as one talks, what is is lost.
Her letters slow like a brook without rain.
The serious student is not dissuaded.
Yet awakening will bear no unexamined sorrow.
Wordy but happy - at the deeper levels so often unattended - I write and share what I write and you read it and together - this time perhaps - we go home together.