zen
4:03 amYou pull the rake. The sand shifts. The stones stand firm.
You pull the rake again. The sand shifts and you see scars on the surface. More scars, little beds for rivers that aren't there. The stones stand firm.
You pull the rake once more. The sand shifts and the scars deepen in the surface. It is blissful to see some new, shallow scars on it as well. The stones stand firm.
You pull the rake like you did from the first pull. The sand shifts under the pressure of the wooden sticks. The beds for the illusionary rivers cut deeper in the surface. You can almost hear the very water trickling. The wood hits one of the stones and scrapes it. It stands firm, as well as the others.
You pull the rake from the upper side of the little garden to the lowest. The sand shifts and the beds seem to cross each other in their ways. The tickling soothes your brain, you smell the freshness of the untouched nature, where all those rivers flow. The stones' colour deepen. They seem to have been touched by water. The river flows between and among them, bumping them gently to each other. They add their voice to the waters one and sing along quietly, happily.
Your thoughts blend with the water and are washed away from the stones that kept them on the dry side. They all hurl down the riverbed, down until you can't see them anymore. Your feelings sparkle on the surface, they throw the rays of the sun back whence they came. They move, they gleam and flash between the stones. The stones, hitting each other and the riverbed tenderly, collect your thoughts inside them. They lock away the yakky whispers and keep them safely in their core. You don't worry, talk, sing, mock, babble, frown, grimace any more. You feel peace falling over you as a blanket, soothing you, filling you up with all the tranquility you have ever wished. You breathe in the wind, that fondles your cheeks, you can feel it clean you from all the taint of the world. You feel clean, fresh and serene.
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