“Vast emptiness, nothing holy.”
― Bodhidharma
FIELD NOTES #39 Bodhidharma sits idle: his feet forget to hit the floor. Eons pass under open eyes, seedbeds become forests, fire rages and reduces the hillside to ash. For all his stoic attention he never lifts a finger— his lidless glare like high beams: the last thing you see before you crash


