windows shut curtains drawn from the paddies sunlight pouring in screeching of cicadas pouring in no one inside no one outside ...

cold wind roaring through monchique hills down into the valley though silent we stand on your way are part of your voice with...

sitting that mirror where we see ourselves and the many worlds as reflections passing . ripples endlessly fading into...

preparing sesshin inside trees there was i born there each time i die that moment when the owl's last call with songs of waking...