Disclaimer

This is my recollection of a story Matsunori shared with us a few days ago. While I have strived to capture its essence, some details may differ as it is drawn from memory.

Beneath the sprawling limbs of the black pine (黒松, Kuromatsu), Matsunori sat, his gaze following the patterns of light and shadow cast by the swaying branches above. The wind whispered through the needles above, carrying questions unspoken, as if the earth itself had paused to listen.

Matsunori remembered sitting in silence among the other students at the mountain temple, the air thick with their unspoken inquiries. Takashiro suddenly spoke: “The wind does not pause to explain its direction, nor the river its depth”. Today, as the shadows stretched long across the earth, Matsunori mused softly, “Perhaps the shadows do not seek clarity, for it is their very nature to dance in mystery.”

He watched as the interplay of light and shadow shifted with the setting sun, their boundaries ever-changing, never fixed. As Takashiro-daishi 高城大師 once imparted:

“Shadows cannot grasp what they are born from, nor can they escape it. To chase their substance is to chase the horizon.”

Matsunori folded his hands in his lap, his expression as still as the stone lanterns that dotted the garden. “To live as a shadow,” he murmured, “is not to lack purpose, but to carry a truth that cannot be held. Yet, for those who would seek to understand their own shadow, they must first ask: What light casts it?”

He let the silence settle like the pine’s fallen needles, inviting the question to linger without needing an answer. The dance of light and shadow continued its eternal rhythm, neither seeking nor resisting its nature, simply existing as it was meant to.

In the solitude beneath the pine, Matsunori smiled faintly to himself, a shadow among shadows, content to let the mysteries remain.