My days.

I spend my days breathing Kenninji incense, Nanzenji incense, Eiheiji incense....
My morning is the candle and the coffee and the offering of the incense to the Buddha. I dream of reading the Hannya Shingon and touch the handle of the Tebori I brought back from Yokohama.
I gaze at the eightyfive black and white photos from Kyoto that fill the wall next to the worn Tatami mats where I do my work and have my conversations. I remember the exact moment I captured every one of them as if it was one second ago. It is bittersweet, almost like a love that one has lost, but hopes to meet again.
Then I return to the Sumi and the skin and the needles, quite content and reassured. Things could be worse. A lot worse.