Near a shrine in Japan he'd swept the path and then placed camellia blossoms there.
Or -- we had no way of knowing -- he'd swept the path between fallen camellias.
- by Carol Snow1
another massacre; and the clean bright morning. Keeping walking. 'Contradiction' is human -- I know that. And 'knowing'... A stirring from the place the whirlwind -- something like fear -- arises, and watching my breath
to still that. Suddenly thinking somewhere in the breath -- along the breath, is an understood place. Somewhere -- but somewhere in passing -- where the matter is reconciled.
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