Through Zen practice, I’ve come to see that the separation between myself and the world is merely a persistent thought.

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.”

We often imagine we need to first understand the whole picture before taking a step. Yet life never asks us to solve it all at once.

The fading colors of late summer, the wilting flowers, and the softening evening light all whisper the presence of autumn to come. Their vibrance is fleeting, yet in that very evanescence lies their truth.

My practice, whether on a canvas or in the stillness of morning meditation, echoes the journey of the great nomads in the sky.