I’ve spent my entire adult life training in Zen, for some remote teaching post I assume, some dissolute future that never materialized. The training becomes its own reward, the life branches out from it, or rather the flow overtakes one, supersedes actions, plans, events, as if there is some divine choreography. What happened to me, my practice ripened only after the master died, who didn’t leave a true successor. There are lineage holders, but no one like him.
Since things have fallen the way they have, I’m now self-taught. I deign that I continue to sit long retreats, thus I continue. I’ve found marvelous freedom at the end of the road. I have no ambition to enter a hierarchy which appears to be fascinated with simplicity, with doing things completely. This doesn’t go against the flow, but doesn’t encompass it. And the trouble with these sort of concepts, the focus drifts from practice to dogma. I would not fit into this tiny box if there was one available. I infuriate lineage holders left and right, for reasons I can only guess, as I am not in an angry space or openly attacking anyone. I suppose there’s room for any number of Zen interpretations. Mine will surely die with me in a crude cabin in the woods, though these words may ring across the void from time to time.

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