If I say I am Buddhist I wrench myself further down into the entangling weeds and vines of who I am not. I must wrench myself up and out before I am lost, dragged down by the weight of karma – the deceptions and distortions given to me, accepted by me, held onto tightly by me.
How might I be free as the maple out my widow, the cloud floating by, the raindrop falling, the blade of grass growing? Only by letting it all go, all that I’ve thought myself to be to now know I am not that. American, Democrat, Priest, Poet? I am not that.
Only a while ago I accepted that my name would be Korin instead of Tom. It was strangely an easy enough thing to do. Why? Because I am not Tom nor am I Korin. If that change was easy how mush easier to let go of all of the other names I carry around as weights that pull me further down among the ensnaring weeds and vines?
Who I am cannot be named. Call me what you will. I am not that.
Living Zen Life 
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