There is no elephant in the room. The elephant is the room.
Here language always fails.
Sometimes beautifully, sometimes less so
But always unable to touch what it reaches for
The anxiety and fear of a week ago is gone. Traces remain as ever-diminishing memory. Then as now, it was, is and will only ever be movements of thought. There is nothing more than a conjuring of images and feelings, none of which have anything to do with what is here, now.
Cold. Darkness. Street lights. Stillness. An alarm. Distant shouting. The merest hint of dawn.
There is no right or wrong time nor right or wrong place.
Open. Open to what is. Open to what is not. Open to everything and open to nothing at all. Open to life and open to death. Open, open, open…
Whatsoever is your attitude towards life will be your attitude towards death…
What is the Zen attitude towards death?
None of this is about happiness or sadness, joy or sorrow, hope or despair per se. It is whatever we find when we attend to this, and this moment only, free from any ideas about what should or should not be here.
Thisness 