This Moment Is the Temple

You don’t have to go far. You don’t have to climb a mountain. You don’t have to find the perfect place to kneel.

This moment is the temple.

Not later. Not someday. Not when you finally get your life together.

Here.

Now.

The temple is your breath. The temple is your dishes. The temple is your messy morning and aching back.

Don’t wait for incense. Don’t wait for silence. Don’t wait for the sacred to look sacred.

The holy is already here.

The ringing phone. The traffic jam. The grief you didn’t schedule.

It all counts.

If you can bow to this,  to the ordinary, to the uncomfortable, to the real,  then you’re already practicing.

Zen is not a place. It’s a way of seeing.

The floor beneath your feet is just as sacred as any monastery.

The breath you’re breathing now is just as ancient as any chant.

You don’t need to go somewhere else. You need to see where you are.

You are already inside the temple. You always were.

It was never out there.

It’s in the dishes. The dog’s bark. The lump in your throat. The small yes you whisper even when it’s hard to show up.

This moment is the temple.

And you are allowed in.