Silence hung in the mountains— A waft carried chants from a monastery, a flock of birds joined.
Sieve through the noise, break your habits, abandon your identity and find yourself.
They look for Him in temples, rituals or forests, who cannot find Him in their hearts.
We seek peace in wars, build barriers to feel free. Our doing is our undoing.
We worship the form, and seek the formless. The Nameless is sought by reciting names. With closed hands, closed minds, we seek Him.
In strokes of fresh blue, pink and orange dispersed with soft white kisses, the sky writes letters to me.