Simultaneously I Am Myself, The Child I

The Secret Of The Mountain Is That The Mountains Simply Exist, As I Do Myself: The Mountains Exist Simply, Which I Do Not. The Mountains Have No "meaning," They Are Meaning; The Mountains Are. The Sun Is Round. I Ring With Life, And The Mountains Ring, And When I Can Hear It, There Is A Ringing That We Share. I Understand All This, Not In My Mind But In My Heart, Knowing How Meaningless It Is To Try To Capture What Cannot Be Expressed, Knowing That Mere Words Will Remain When I Read It All Again, Another Day.

It Is Related That Sakyamuni [the Historical Buddha] Once Dismissed As Of Small Consequence A Feat Of Levitation On The Part Of A Disciple, And Cried Out In Pity For A Yogin By The River Who Had Spent Twenty Years Of His Human Existence Learning To Walk On Water, When The Ferryman Might Have Taken Him Across For A Small Coin.

In Zazen, One Is One's Present Self, What One Was, And What One Will Be, All At Once.

This World Is Painted On A Wild Dark Metal

The Ancient Intuition That All Matter, All "reality," Is Energy, That All Phenomena, Including Time And Space, Are Mere Crystallizations Of Mind, Is An Idea With Which Few Physicists Have Quarreled Since The Theory Of Relativity First Called Into Question The Separate Identities Of Energy And Matter. Today Most Scientists Would Agree With The Ancient Hindus That Nothing Exists Or Is Destroyed, Things Merely Change Shape Or Form; That Matter Is Insubstantial In Origin, A Temporary Aggregate Of He Pervasive Energy That Animates The Electron.