a report from a week of silent sitting
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the deeper silence reaches within, the lesser your understanding of where it is reaching into /
is it ascending or descending and in whom / less clear becomes what is inside, what is outside, what in-between /
who the one or many listening here to how many species of birds singing in the trees / to noises coming from the road / voices of villagers echoeing in nearby groves / or the mantras you may hear recited from the temple when darkness sets in /
silence is a listening, empties you of you and all things known to you / emptied out it leaves this sense of plenitude / a fullness unknown to your words yet intimate to a sense of being that in its vastness plays at forgetting and remembering who you are / who you were / where are you /
there is no listener just this listening / a timeless listening to everything and nothing / at the still point in time with no beginning and no end /
emergence of colors and sounds in the silent listening of the world /
it’s in silence that trees awaken with the first rays of sunlight /
it's in silence they begin singing from their roots in the dark /
days come and pass in silence / but there is a stillness that doesn't leave /
nothing moves / not even the spark of hours leaping from the tip of flames into the starlit night while we gather in this circle of fire /
fading afternoon light goldens on banana leaves in the lowland /
this long road to nowhere / to here / nothing brings you to or removes you from here /
silence carries you along / the sound of bamboos rustling in the wind / accompanying you in every step /
here goes the bell / time to break the silence / break the silence that never breaks /
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