zenscribe

À propos de zenscribe

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.

mai 2008

I Am Not Near, Not Far

Par |2017-04-04T06:58:22+01:00mai 2nd, 2008|Textes|

"Don't try to figure out who you are," said the Zen master Tozan Ryokai. "If you try to figure out who you are, what you understand will be far away from you. You will have just an image of yourself." And Eka, the student who would become the successor of the Zen master Bodhidharma, said [...]

The last word of the perfect tongue

Par |2015-10-02T20:09:53+01:00mai 1st, 2008|Textes|

Writing my "book," or reading, walking in the rain along a Belgian canal, riding the Métro on a holiday afternoon, letting the cat out and in, pulling on a black sock, sitting at the window, I am always seeking what without fail eludes me: the say of it. I want the last word of the [...]

avril 2008

Familiar Twists of Strange Branches

Par |2015-10-02T20:10:17+01:00avril 20th, 2008|Textes|

Often in the afternoon, I turn from the Boulevard Raspail onto the Rue Emile Richard, which on each side is lined by parked cars and the stone walls of the Montparnasse cemetery. It is a straight street, and narrow, and on clear days it is bathed in the setting sun. Motor traffic runs only south, [...]

When the server serves

Par |2017-04-04T06:58:22+01:00avril 15th, 2008|Textes|

Please forgive zenscribe's unforeseen absence in the blogosphere: The server was serving. Which serves as a flagrant example of what is so often forgotten or overlooked: The constant disappearance of all I know. There is the sudden hail of hail and then the sudden not-hail of hail, the no-more of hail. Now is the hail [...]

One day replete/Une journée pleine

Par |2015-10-02T20:11:00+01:00avril 10th, 2008|Textes|

The whole day of words is wordless. I rest. To be quick, I must be quiet. Phone calls are answered. A friend offers tea. The stairs lead up and down, but one by one, nowhere. Thus I go. *** A monk asked Ummon, "What is speech that transcends the buddhas and goes beyond the patriarchs?" [...]

Die to live/mourrir pour vivre

Par |2015-10-02T20:11:18+01:00avril 7th, 2008|Textes|

Yesterday in sitting I see it: My thoughts wander, and "I" follows, running in aimless circles along trails that just double back onto themselves. This is going nowhere, blindly, incessantly yearning to come and arrive. Then for a half-second "I" turns to find in a still clearing the silent face of death looking back, unmasked, [...]

mars 2008

Beyond good and evil

Par |2015-10-02T20:11:55+01:00mars 31st, 2008|Textes|

"Pour les Anciens comme pour les mystiques, ce champ qu'ils s'accordent à reconnaître comme celui de la divinité se situe au-delà du plaisir et du déplaisir, au-delà du bien comme du mal. Quiconque veut y pénétrer et s'y aventurer, doit consentir à s'y perdre." Catherine Millot, La Vie Parfaite (Gallimard, 2006) "The Ancients and the [...]

The less I know

Par |2017-04-04T06:58:22+01:00mars 25th, 2008|Textes|

In the garden this morning, I am looking where I always look. Blossoms stand ghostlike in abundant tree foliage. A dead leaf hangs captive in the frayed strands of a flag, flit-flapping. Undergrowth and overgrowth fill the day's holes with unknowing. I watch. New faces of color and light emerge. The more I look, the [...]

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