A Monk with No God
I rest on the old stone
and watch my fingers tremble.
No one speaks here,
and only the air leans in.
Sunlight comes through the window,
dust spinning in the quiet.
It moves through my bones,
a warmth that needs no name.
The garden breathes outside the walls,
its edges trembling in slow rhythm.
I move with it…
no shrine, no chant,
only this stillness…
and I am whole,
even without a god.
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