haiku

not knowing the name of the tree
i stood in the flood
of its sweet smell

– basho

Before language, before ideas, there is experience. It is unimaginably intense. It is the sweet smell of the unnamed tree; it is the stunning silence of a winter night; it is the deep, warm, stilling sorrow of loss; it is the loving caress of the intimate lover, joyful in every little movement.

This experience is only available to direct perception. It is not available to thinking, imagining, desiring, but only to a complete surrender to what is. Then, one does not know the name of what is, but one stands in its sweet smell.

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~ by tdcatss on November 4, 2016.

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