It’s Monday. And so? And so the activity that has « occupied » me for nearly a week has come to an end.
For five days, I participated in the Salon Zen in Paris, a teeming marketplace of seekers and sellers. It was a souk, with stand after stand of goods on display. A brisk trade ensued. And there we stood at our stand, with nothing but a book or two to sell.
Yet there we were, in the middle of the seekers and sellers, no different than them. All those individuals wandering through the maze of merchandise moved me immensely. To whomever asked, I offered a reply.
An old man shuffled up to our stand, studied our documents, slipped one or two into his plastic sack full of documents. « Zen comes from Japan, » he almost mumbled, glancing up so that our eyes met for just a second as I said, « Yes. » No other words were needed. He then turned and shuffled slowly off.
Everyday was filled with such exchanges, not of money and goods but of what resides in our hearts.