Are Monasteries Necessary?

The days seem much shorter now since the time change last weekend. But I make it out for a meditation at streamside before mid-afternoon in time to see and be in the remaining fullness of today’s light.
A maple tree in the picnic area across the creek holds the sunlight and color for three-quarters of an hour, and then the upper branches of a sycamore upstream are bathed in a golden glow.
As the mind-as-thought spontaneously falls silent in passive watchfulness growing into undirected attention, essences became apparent.
Large leaves fall to the stream in a perpetual dance of perpendicular and horizontal motion. The trajectory of nature’s geometry is written on the heart. Above the stream, the character of every person that passes on the pedestrian park road

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