Tenzen was my friend. He was a monk. He is no longer among the living. We had several conversations. This was one of those moments.
Me: Have you ever experienced real love Tenzen?
Me: I wish I could say that.
Tenzen: Think back.
Me: To where?
Tenzen: A child in the woods spending hours alone.
Me: OK, now what?
Tenzen: Go there.
Me: I close my eyes.
Tenzen: What do you feel with the palm of your hand?
Me: The faces of the ferns. The spores on their backs.
Tenzen: What do you hear?
Me: Red-tail hawk perched above, scolding me.
Tenzen: What do you smell?
Me: Decay, old earth, like ancient tea.
Tenzen: What do you see?
Me: An old bald-headed monk in front of me.
Tenzen: Keep looking
Me: A sterile place created by God.
Tenzen: Exactly. So, how can one spend hours, an entire life touching and gazing at such beauty in front of them, around them, using all their senses and say they have never experienced real love?
Me: Nodding my head in agreement I say, I don’t think this love affair will ever cease.