The hardest thing, he said to his teacher, both sitting on their mats, is not not thinking, but what to do when the thoughts come anyway. I can’t seem to get rid of them no matter how hard I try.” “Do not try to do anything,” the Sensei said, “for anything you do introduces another thought, and soon enough you have an onion of thoughts to peel, layer by layer. When a thought comes, look at it with the mind’s eye, say, with the mind’s voice, look a thought, and do nothing more, and before you know it the thought will be gone and the next in line will enter your mind.”
You may seek to follow the path of the dove, for a fool knows many roads. You may wrap yourself in fine linen, an infant wears only his skin and knows this moment is already gone.
Think long before you speak of how to walk along the path, of where it leads. The baby says nothing, will not speak of where he has been, where he is going, for to him there is only here, and silence is descriptive enough.
The old man walks slowly through the opulent lobby the light of the triple chandeliers refracted into a thousand spectra that dance on mirrored walls. The guard gently touches his elbow steering him as though he is blind drunk, while the bellman walks a step behind, like Charlton Heston through an invisible sea. The man wears a shabby sport coat that was a ghastly green on the day it was sold years ago, his sneakers are from different pairs, linked only by their once whiteness. The bellman dashes in front of the pair, raising his arm to part the sea of glass encasing the lobby in a constant chill from the July furnace of Tokyo. They exit, pause, a hundred feet from the doors, and bow gently one to each other, so many chickens pecking over seeds of civility. The guard stands by the door watching intently as the man retreats to the welcoming streets.
Bald eagle perches tree top winter barren gray and stares at stunted pines. Hawk, head tucked under massive wings reaching for distant stars rides a thermal coaster waiting for squirrels. Hills cry out raging against dawn tears flow puddling in footprints of a distant god.