We are all just a seed inside of a large pot we feel at home in.
Zen takes the pot, throws it out the window and places the seed vulnerably in the soil, and sometimes in the blink of an eye, there is a large sycamore tree standing where that seed had been placed.
Sometimes the wind picks up and blows the seed to a whole new unfamiliar world and it sprouts as an apple tree in the middle of a pumpkin patch.
In Zen, "you" will die and die again. Illogically. The mind will never be able to grasp sufficient understanding.
And through surrendering that mind, you will learn to sing and dance as you watch parts of who you thought you were dissolve and shatter into pieces.
With a deep breath, you can sweep them away to reveal a constant new slate. An everlasting essence is there and was always there and will always be there.
Hari Om ~ Namaste
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