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Summer afternoon in St Petersburg
Thomas Merton: "we in the West, living in a tradition of stubborn ego-centered practicality and geared entirely for the use and manipulation of everything, always pass from one thing to another, from cause to effect, from the first to the next and to the last and then back to the first. Everything always points to something else, and hence we never stop anywhere because we cannot: as soon as we pause, the escalator reaches the end of the ride and we have to get off and find another one. Nothing is allowed just to be and to mean itself: everything has to mysteriously signify something else. Zen is especially designed to frustrate the mind that thinks in such terms. The Zen 'fact,' whatever it may be, always lands across our road like a fallen tree beyond which we cannot pass."
Suddenly, there are these clouds—except not as "clouds," not named, not categorized, just there, being themselves. Don't think: just look . . .