Field of Weeds is a metaphor. I’ve always been attracted to abandoned fields, where the natural forces won against someone’s idea. No more clean lines and monotonous order, instead a swirling chaos of weeds and flowers, so beautifully arranged. A stand of trees, all the intersecting branches moving in the wind, the scattered light—there’s some meaning beyond the simple fact that it exists. It conveys something of its origin, the One.
It became alive in me. I first noticed when I had to do a morning bell chant solo. I’m not a vocalist. I don’t have any natural ability with the voice. I could do it, but not cleanly. Out of desperation, I recalled the sunlight through the trees, and found my voice. It took a few years for me to understand this. My voice became the same as the sunlight through the trees. When I chanted from that place, it conveyed the same information. Then it slowly began to dawn on me that I should live this way.