Collecting All The Rains Of May The

A Flute With No Holes Is Not A Flute.

The Desire To Break The Silence With Constant Human Noise Is, I Believe, Precisely An Avoidance Of The Sacred Terror Of That Divine Encounter.

With Every Gust Of Wind, The Butterfly Changes Its Place On The Willow.

The Sea Darkens And A Wild Duck S Call Is Faintly White.

When Your Consciousness Has Become Ripe In True Zazen-pure Like Clear Water, Like A Serene Mountain Lake, Not Moved By Any Wind-then Anything May Serve As A Medium For Realization.