When everything is said
meditation seat
Rain Clears the eye of the night.
Shadows disintegrate in space.

A servant of the unknown desire
dresses up as a landscape
for your next dream.

A dream with a secret compartment:
in a hollow tree
a message awaits you every day.

So far you still don’t bother
to notice.

More Light
in sleeping air.

The world condenses
into a shrine.

I am settled through love
for the quieter gesture.

The Axle

Clouds hang like dirt in the sky.
Memories whirl like torn pictures
in a ventilation shaft.

I turn off the lights
and drink the last light of the day,
feeling the thirst of the rising night.

My weight shifts
into the centre.
A dark love covers my face.

Outside and inside turn
around my axle
until my axle breaks.

At Home

The sea has no songs;
the wind does not remember you;
the moon does not understand

Your fear and your aversion too
are perfectly fine.

If you cry or you don’t,
doesn’t matter.

Just leave it –
we are at home

                It is a slow-burning pain:
                a fuse.

                The heart beats in circles and grows
                in every direction.

                The hungerbird collects horizons
                for his nest.

garden kuti

church door
A church door sketched while on walking pilgrimage

White Smoke in the fields.
In the bundled wreckage
glow and clamour united.

Our sacrifice has lured fear
out of its ambush.

Everything resounds
like the space
inside a swinging bell.

Chithurst House 1 Chithurst House 2
Unique perspectives of Chithurst House, Cittaviveka Monastery

  What Burns, burns out:
A feeling flaps its wings
in my shrine,
the metaphysical stomach.

As the alluring call fades,
my hand
I receive the pain.

where you are missing,
a sweetness listens
like simmering honey,

melting from the inside
my song,
my gesture,
my pretext for being.
All is Well

Then the measureless eye looks in on your time
and pulls you down.
Your worries, ideas and plans drift
away on the surface.

Your life bends around the gravity
of the sinking heart;
beginning and end find each other
in a closed sphere.

Your boundaries dissolve.
Warm, red light closes in.

Thoughts still enter sporadically,
screaming “Here! Here! Here!“
and crash
like shot-down angels into the sea.
Then everything goes quiet.

The one-eyed night
is squinting at you.
You give her
a bodyless smile:

All is well.
At Harnham
Harnham Hill - at the end of a long walking pilgrimage through the English countryside

Ajahn Abhinando
Ajahn Abhinando
Ajahn Thitadhammo
Ajahn Thitadhammo
The poems on this page are by Ajahn Abhinando, taken from the book When Everything Is Said / Wenn Alles Gesagt Ist. You can find it at:

The drawings are by Ajahn Thitadhammo, who, over the years and upon whatever materials have been at hand (discarded old books, notebook paper, etc.) has sketched, doodled and drawn with much sensitivity and skill ... while on walking pilgrimages through the English countryside and in residence at Cittaviveka.
Photographs - Copright is reserved for all photographs and artwork in the FSN.
For more information, please contact the editor.

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