For the "W.W.

" (Walking We)

I've heard the Old Zendo will be closed.
The "Studio One" will have no more that rythm
But true zendos do never close
as the seasons, as the waves as the tides
as love, as walking for a better world, a better common Heart
can never be closed.
And if we do not have hopes on this, we do not have hopes on nothing.
"what do we do with the Zendo after you leave?"
They asked Nyogen Senzaki at his deathbed.
"Close down!!!" he uttered with a smile.
They did, and from that closing, the whole
or almost the whole
of Zen in the "west" began coming forth.
There is a solitude,
essential, palpitating heart of our steps
there is a solitude like bones
not merely in the universe
but with it in togetherness
among, like hand in hand eye in eye step in step
as & with every single rock, cloud, river, being
it dawns suddenly as our own dawning
filling all space and time
as our foot is covering
the whole of the ground at each step
there is no place where we turn our dancing
or looking, or loving, where she's not smiling
wetting the bones burning separations fertilizing breath
unfathomable beauty beyond thought & feeling
alive as a rock as a falling leaf as a breeze
not isolation but solitude
as of each beat of our heart
no form colour shape or quality are her wings
seed sitting forever everliving not growing
but fertilizing with maturity with no time
'cause no time can produce this
maturity with no roots or cause
fresh as ourselves sharing this very word-sound
new, will never be has never been
aliveness herself, and not the ashes
of the known, of 1+ 1 = 2
this is the heart of all creation
the bone of all love
as this breath, this heartfelt certainty
of "not complete", not yet complete

sweeping the ground of pain in joy

alone dumb and backward, choosing to differ,
nesting in the mother's breasts
this is Heart flowering as love and attention
with no continuity like an arrow
diving as the night into the unknown.
This is the way, this is the Heart
to respect and fertilize the True Place of the Tao
This very Mother Earth, this very common Heart
This very place
diving as the unknown into the pregnant night
The seeds are flying in the fertile space
If not of the seeds, whose practice is it?