“Come to the window, Everyone! See how still everything is. No breeze at all today after yesterday’s gale.”
“It’s as still as an oil painting, My Zen Master.”
“Yes, Everyone. But what we don’t see is the movement in absolutely everything.”
“Movement?”
“Everything is moving, Everyone. See the leaves on the trees. They look still, yet are imperceptibly growing. Likewise the flowers. And the branch broken off by the gale, looks dead, no growing, no movement. Yet it is moving, moving back to Mother Earth in its gradual decomposing.”
“But surely, My Zen Master. The stones aren’t moving.”
“Oh yes, Everyone. Even the stones are moving. Imperceptibly reacting to the temperature around them. Very slightly contracting when it’s cold. Very slightly expanding when it’s hot. Everything is moving even though all we see is an oil painting.”
“Beautiful. Thank you, My Zen Master. Solid!”