7.11.22

Let's talk softly to each other as if speaking might break the hold the morning has on us.

The most beautiful thing about monastery life is stumbling out of a dream and bed and into the dark, towards the meditation hall where we will sit together as the sun rises. When I was sitting, I thought I saw the inside of my heart, as if it were an empty bowl with a glimmer of water at the bottom. I tried to return to the sweetness of my breath. I tried to follow it as if I were its child. 

Living right now means I still believe in the future. There are moments of truth. I'm hesitating more than I have, which means that for days I want to be still. What I am trying to do here (on this planet) is not to retreat from the world but to walk deeper into it, to the place where we can be together. I will give my life to it, to the promise of more life. (Is there another choice? Can you choose something besides justice? Tell me what to give my life for and I will.)

I wonder if returning to earth is taking my words from me. Instead of the words I hear the wind, the trees, the animals, and something more I still can't describe to you. I think everyday I become more beautiful, which means everyday I am becoming everything else that has been here all along. 

And yet, and yet. Time passing. I have a desire to laugh with my whole body.

So, 

let's speak quietly here, as if our beloved (the world and everything in it), is still dreaming in bed.