Every day arrows fly and appear to stick to events: what occurred yesterday—hit!, what to
eat—hit!, what time is it—hit!, what to wear—hit!, …
Sitting in za, arrow
flies forward, nothing to strike,
Breath, a thought and then another, a body sensation, but
nothing solid to strike, and nothing to do.
Anytime and all the time, it is like this; nothing solid for
arrow to hit.
Especially in za, there
is this landscape where this reality can be actualized and then perhaps carried
forward to flower into the everyday.
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