Breathe in the tide, slow and still—
the moment crests without a name.
No future, no past to fill,
only now, a flickering flame.
The temple stands without a door,
waves bow low upon its stones.
Time forgets what came before,
wind recites the ocean's tones.
Each grain of sand a sutra’s page,
each breath a bell that softly rings.
The world outside—a drifting stage,
within, the hush of ancient things.
No need to seek, no place to run,
the shore unfolds beneath your feet.
With every rise of morning sun,
the self and sea in silence meet.
A gull cries once—then disappears,
its echo fades into the blue.
Like thoughts that vanish with our fears,
the now is vast, and always new.
Sit with the sea, be still and bare,
no temple roof, no monk in sight.
Yet sacredness is everywhere,
in salt and spray, in shade and light.
So let the moment be your shrine,
with tide and breath in perfect flow.
The sea is yours, the stars align—
no place to be, and nowhere to go.
No comments:
Post a Comment