I hear the tapping of wood against a wall, and I am reminded of something. Then I realize just what I am reminded of is the thing itself, when all things were real without question, and which is still somewhat far off from here in my everyday life. True, when I am busy, I think little of the hollowness of things, caught up in the task at hand, but when I have time to reflect, I run my hand over solid things, and it is as if everything that exists is merely a façade over nothing, that it is merely some kind of dull magic that holds anything together and makes them work. I truly do not know what it is, exactly, that is missing from my whole picture of things. It is so fundamental a substance, the reality of reality: who can say what this is? But I miss it, even what I do not understand. Even what I do not really remember anymore.
Zen Master
9:58pm saturday, 24th june
Zen Master says-------It ain't no fun, when the rabbits got the gun.
Zen Master