The depth and vastness of life reveal themselves in the simplicity of everyday things. A cup on the table, light on a wall, a flower in a vase—each holds the entire universe if we look closely enough. Nothing is missing.

From the depths of my Zen practice, I often return to the question, “What is this?”

My Dharma name, Sōkei, means “vital joy,” and was given to me by my Zen teachers when I took the Buddhist precepts. It is both a gift and an aspiration. Vital joy is not something I can chase or create. It arises freely, without cause or condition.

In the Temple garden, the leaves are falling. Each one turning, gliding, and coming to the earth without resistance. Their descent is quiet, unhurried, and complete

In my art, in my Zen practice, and in my work with the Temple community, I keep returning to the same refrain: “Don't hold anything back.”

Each time I struck the bell, for an instant, there was a contact of form meeting form. The striker meets the metal, a precise point in time, already gone the moment it happens. The sound arises, full and clear, filling the space. But even as we hear it, it is vanishing.

The New Year opened gently during the first weekend as our sangha gathered for a three-day online meditation retreat. Together, we sat in the silence of shared presence, each turning inward while remaining connected through the digital thread of the virtual zendo.

The winter solstice arrived last Saturday, the longest night and the shortest day, marking the year’s quiet turning point. For me, it is not a time to dwell on what has been or might come but an invitation to rest in the turning itself—a subtle shift that is always happening.