Here is the place; here the way unfolds

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Here is the place; here the way unfolds

Lovely June evening in Paris, just finished dinner of roast chicken, salad, strawberries in the garden with friends.

Thinking, too, about the start of our Retreat in the Heart of Life tomorrow. And of the news of the day, including the boat full of migrants, Aquarius, that was finally allowed to land in Spain today. That story inspired the photo I posted here, which is a painting that I saw in a shop window in the chic 6th arrondissement of Paris recently. « For those in great danger on the high seas, » it says.

Also thinking of the Zen patriarch Dogen, who in the 13th century wrote a letter to a lay disciple that became the text we now know as Genjokoan. The word genjokoan means, basically, that everything in a person’s life is the living, breathing, manifested way (of the Buddha or of Zen). Which is exactly what we will be looking to experience this week!

So, here we are. « Here is the place; here the way unfolds, » Dogen wrote.

If you haven’t sent me your vow, please do. If you haven’t signed up for the retreat, it’s not too late. In any case, I wish you a fine week, whatever you do, wherever you.

 

By | 2018-06-17T21:28:10+00:00 juin 17th, 2018|Retraites au coeur de la vie, Textes|1 Comment

About the Author:

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Enseignante Zen et poète, Sensei Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell est née et a grandi à Minneapolis, aux Etats-Unis. Arrivée en France en 1981 pour étudier la littérature et l’histoire, elle y est restée, s’installant à Paris, où elle élève ses deux enfants et gagne sa vie en tant que journaliste. The Zen teacher and poet Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell Sensei was born and raised in Minneapolis, but came to France in 1981 to study literature and history and has lived in Paris ever since, raising her two children and making a living as a journalist.

One Comment

  1. Tenzin 18 juin 2018 at 12 h 50 min - Reply

    So conflicted with this post. Can’t stop thinking of the poor chicken. Probably raised in a factory farm. With thousands of others. Mere commodities. Raised so quickly. With hormones. Lived a few months when she had years ahead of her. How can we stop conflicts across the sea? In other continents. How can we see refugees as sentient beings? Like me. And you. And the chicken too. How can we create peace, a ultimate respect for the « other » when our plates, our tables have so much violence on it?

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