of unimportant inner
litter and bits and pieces have
to be swept out first. Even a small head
can be piled high inside with irrelevant distractions.
True, there may be edifying emotions and thoughts, too, but
the clutter is ever present. So let this be the aim of the meditation:
to turn one’s innermost being into a vast empty plain, with none
of that treacherous undergrowth to impede the view. So that
something of “God” can enter you, and something of “Love,”
too. Not the kind of love-de-luxe that you can revel in
deliciously for half an hour, taking pride in
how sublime you feel, but the love
you can apply to small,
at Japanese prints
with Glassner this afternoon.
That’s how I want to write. With that much
space round a few words. They should simply emphasize
the silence. Just like that print with the sprig of blossom in the
lower corner. A few delicate brush strokes—but with what attention
to the smallest detail—and all around it space, not empty but inspired.
The few great things that matter in life can be said in a few words.
If I should ever write—but what?—I would like to brush in a
few words against a wordless background. To describe
the silence and the stillness and to inspire them.
What matters is the right relationship between
words and wordlessness, the wordlessness
in which much more happens than
in all the words one can
can go in a thousand
directions, but on this beautiful
path, I walk in peace. With each step,
the wind blows. With each step,
a flower blooms.