In winter, the Temple garden pares itself down to its essence. The trees shed their leaves, leaving only bare, graceful forms against the sky —stark, quiet, and profoundly beautiful. The open spaces of winter are invitations to rest, reflect, and discover what is truly essential.

As I begin creating a piece of art, I often pause to consider that I'm not just making a mark or representing a form but opening the door to a moment. In this initiatory act of creation, I enter into a dialogue with the world as it is, the timeless ground of now.

The great Zen masters taught that everything has inherent perfection. So, despite how it may sound, my art is perfect from the moment I begin.

Over the past week, I've been reflecting on a recent three-week Zen retreat. Now, alone in the Temple, I still feel the presence of those who practiced with such devotion. But, like the faint decay of a meditation bell, the feeling is fading.

As I write this, I find myself on the precipice of an ancient journey. In just a couple of days, the Zen Temple will open its doors to a three-week meditation retreat..

Whenever I take a moment to sit and enjoy the beautiful Temple garden, I'm reminded of an ever-present opportunity: the transformative power of silence and stillness.