Mountains are Mountains

Mountains are Mountains
Prepare the room. Clean the table. Rinse your hands.
Don’t let it take your time — let it give you time.
Place one dot. Then another. And another. Repeating the smallest possible gesture. It asks almost nothing of me. I don’t have to invent or solve it. I just have to continue.
The dots become steady enough that thinking loosens its grip. No analysing. No separating subject from object. My hand, the ink, the paper, the table, the room, one.
In Zen practice there is a sound — mu — repeated to wear down the habit of constant thinking. Sometimes I feel as if the dot is my mu. This is an ink on paper drawing that I will include a picture of.