09/01/2026
Poem Based on Thich Nhat Hanh teaching on How to listen to a Dharma talk:
Do not reach for the pen,
there is no exam waiting,
no ledger to balance, no prize
for the mind that gathers the most.
Listen instead as you would to flute notes
drifting across the evening air—
not asking where the breath begins,
not measuring the space between sounds,
simply allowing the melody to touch the skin.
When you analyze, you draw a plastic sheet tight across the garden,
and the sweet downpour slides away,
leaving the earth beneath as dry as bone.
When you compare, you hold up a shield,
defending old wounds from the cure.
Put down the armor of your intellect.
Fold up the tarp.
Let the words fall like gentle rain
upon an open field.
Do not worry if some drops feel strange or heavy; let them seep down anyway,
past the hard crust of what you think you know, down into the silent, waiting dark.
There are seeds asleep within your soil—
seeds of stillness, of kindness,
of understanding that needs no words to speak.
They have been thirsty for a very long time.
You do not have to make them grow.
You only have to let the rain reach them.
Sit still, breathe, and receive: you are the garden,
and you will know exactly what to do.
