In moonlight wrapped in the wisdom of a gentle spring, a tree stands in silhouette, in the soft radiance of evening light. Branches flow to the heavens, resting perfectly, body firmly set in ground. Steady, unwavering. And in the mind, a thousand blossoms grow. unceasing, an infinity, sight within sight. Moment after moment. In stillness. In the echoes of each moment, as one.
On the third floor of the mechanics library, I walked into a small room, a wood paneled wall inside, quiet, just me and the librarians, and then again, three times, maybe more. There were no seats in the chessroom. No set pieces or moves, each table was glass, reflections, because this is not a game. So I sit in the room on a lunch break, just watching the light, as it moves through the sky.
The city streets are calm, and all are at peace. The passersby each in their world, yet united in these moments, a field of joy echoes in my heart, and in these city streets, I see a forest, where all is joy, and there is nothing to do but our work, and the peace, now, and today.
The Reluctant Blogger 