Change is a beautiful bitch.

Can't be neither stopped nor manipulated at will. “Free will”, some days I doubt that's real.

A ceremony celebrating Sunim's legacy took place yesterday. It was beautiful. People shared stories, there were no shortage of them.

Sunim flew from Japan to NYC in the late 60s. He left Korea to avoid serving in the military. An unknown US army official in Japan paid for the one-flight ticket, saying: “Americans need to learn about Zen, do you want to teach there?”. Sunim was 27 years old when he arrived to the US.

Last Saturday, my Zen teacher passed away. The night is thick with sadness.

Calling Sunim my teacher is, perhaps, imprecise. I never spent long periods under his guidance, as I've done with my training teacher. Sunim was more like a grandfather I visited once a year. A wise elder and great storyteller that I met when his strong character had already softened. Within the Sangha, however, Sunim was everyone's teacher, directly or indirectly, to our fortune and/or disgrace, intentionally or otherwise.