Sitting zazen on the flight out of Syracuse
7/6/2023
Sitting Zazen on the flight out of Syracuse Con/Jur/d 07/06/2023 on the slow road between SFO and Sonoma Sitting on the boat the day before we left, placid waves a wavering focus while ducks, geese, herons, seagulls and frigates mostly won our attentions as our mind's susurrations made fun of those in our cohort who confuse good fortune, with attunement confabulating the revelations of sunlight on water, whether from when welcome breezes fluff sagging sails and whisks away our animal sweat, or as rays breakthrough twig and leaf canopy illuminating, newt, and nymph between mossy banks interspersed with rainbow flashes from mudded trout scales, with Aggrandizing stories of self how money’s motions make alignments between inner worth and outer manifestations to us, this appears to be an idyllic idiots folly, reality has no time for our romanticized judgments Mockingly, as if in response, we were mysteriously upgraded, becoming grateful betrayers of class After sitting zazen elbows blissfully akimbo as the plane arched from tarmac toward the thin blue membrane who without gravity's authority constitutes less puncture resistance than our aging scarred skin glimpsed upon hands in their mudra, thumbs lightly pressed together against middle aged paunch extending the layers between the rumors of outside and the dan tien When finished, asked for sparkling water misheard, received sparkling wine (and no, we won't make the joke confabulating miracles with our little stories) And yet when landing in New Jersey there are threats of flooding air continues to be thick with the smoke of the inevitable ending to these subsets of tales beneath the mythic superset of civilization's conquest recalculated as "a kindness" Do you still feel, we ask those recent rare moments when aircraft did not blot out the sun and roads remained quiet, and the full spectrum of dark and day emerged as you did not outside in but inside out?
Much love,
Con/Jur/d, 7/7/2023