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TIMING IS . . .
The sweep of the second-hand, the minute hand is constant, each moment as long as the last, none longer, none shorter and yet I know that Einstein was right in noting that things unpleasant take forever, while all that is joyful passes quickly even when the elapsed time is the same. What Albert didn’t…
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TRUE MEASURE
If you ask me the true measure of a passing moment, I will tell you it is at once invaluable, and by equal measure useless, lost in the detritus of time’s wave, now receded. Do not try and cling to it for your memory is all that is impermeable, and then only in a moment…
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FEAR
The old monk asked the young man why he seemed so worried. “Because, sensei, you are old and will die soon!” “Why does that worry you?” “Because, like everyone, I fear death.” “Not everyone, certainly, I do not fear death.” “How can you not fear death?” “There is nothing to fear, I fear life.” “Why…
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TIME’S ARROW
Before the after now is present. It was never like this before, it will not be again anytime soon, for there is no time soon that has yet to be or just gone by. After the before we find ourselves here and now.
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PERCEPTION
The sweep of the second hand, the minute hand is constant, each moment as long as the last, none longer, none shorter and yet I know that Einstein was right in noting that things unpleasant take forever, while all that is joyful passes quickly, even when the elapsed time is the same. What Albert didn’t…
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SEKITO’S GREAT AND SMALL CANON
This wave touches the shore just as it should. That wave touches the shore just as it should. You may wait an eternity for a wave that touches just not as it should, just as it should not, or you can sit and let the waves wash over you. A reflection on Case 53…
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DEFIANCE
The stone defies the flame, drawing it in unyielding, until it is licked by the snow of winter The page defies the words, denying them purchase, they are flat without eyes to see them the repose unbroken The barren earth defies the king who orders it fertile as sand swirls engulfing the palace tearing at its…
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MUSHOTOKU
We spend far too much time clinging to what was as the flames fade, and far too little time feeding the fire and grasping what can be, what is.
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an old writer and his words 