Until Only the Mountain Remains.
I came across this lovely passage from the poet Ikkyu:
“Every day priests examine the dharma
And endlessly chant complicated sutras
Before doing that, they should learn
How to read the love letters sent by the wind and rain, the snow and the moon.”
In these few short words, the complexities of life are distilled. Angst, upset, willfulness and desire – silent before a near fleeting awe.
We find ourselves within this intimacy of nature; the stark contrast of White Birch against the grey of a wintered sky. And knowing, the cardinals will soon take their place within the advancing lush of the Magnolia bow.
Everything changes, my loves – a continuous unfolding of all into ‘one’. Culminating into the expansiveness of this single moment, in which the subtleties of impermanence yield a far greater value.
In this space, we are so much more than a mere passing of time. Rather, we are boldly uncommon manifestations of light.
“We sit together, the mountain and me,” writes Li Po, “Until only the mountain remains.”
In peace, my loves…