Again.

With determination.

Snowdrops outside my front door.

nx

 

One can still hear the voice of this land. 

An ancient voice in a forgotten language. 

One continuous deep throated howl

Declaring its relationship with the sea and the wind

and time.

Enormous things. Long long time.

One voice.

The relationship manifests in its green top fringe

 of strong misshapen trees 

rooted perilously on the blackened rocks, 

whose deep furrows and cracks 

harbor small bits of ancient stones,

And shelter the most delicate and sensitive of life.

Everyday, this sea, this land and this wind

join with one strong voice.

It may be that

my ears have become insensitive to the voices of other landscapes.

Who is listening? 

Nx

One Story...

 From the moment of our birth we are energy moving forward to find the fullest possible expression of ourselves. All that come make this journey.

 In this way we are one story.

Richard Wagamese

 You can't really get a picture of it.

Not with the sound.

That deep soft roar that runs tirelessly on the wind.

Not with the smell of it.

That ancient smell that rides on the waves,

And crashes on to the shore.

That wind that is cooling one side of my face.

A picture of the wind

Would include the smell and the sound,

and the mist,

that is running helplessly in its arms

across the ocean and on to the land.

I will take a picture 

Of what the wind has left behind,

and capture the bits of old forest

half buried in sand

Scattered like bleached bones on the beach. 

And the shadows that chase the little birds

Chatting and scurrying at the shimmering

tide line.

Besides the bones and birds and the shimmering,

What about the eagle sitting on top of the tree

Above me?

All he watches is the wind,

And what it leaves behind.

Nx

Grief...the love that persists after loss

 I have a wish.

I have a wish for you.

I wish I could take from you

Your grief.

And carry it down to the river

And gently dip it in the cool water.

And you could have 

The whole day off. 

Grief reflects our connection to the energy of  the cold, clear water that snakes through the underground caves in the earth. Grief will grab a hold of you and plunge you in the river. It is a true, deep focused dive into the river of all souls.  

We dive deeper in the water with grief than we do with sadness. The water is clearer; there is more focus. 

This breathless swim is our connection with the collective consciousness.  You stand with all of the losses of all humans in all time and all space.  

Here, this is the place we live all together with our human impermanence. This is where the roots of compassion are nurtured. No one is immune to this swim.  

Grief invites you to survive your loss by immersing yourself in the deep river of compassion that constantly flows underneath our feet. 

 It is a very natural and deeply meaningful human experience. When we sink down into the waters of grief, we will feel the pain of loss, but we also discover our sacred position in the dance of all souls. 

Grief is a downward motion. Like sadness, there is a heaviness. The weight will help us to stay grounded and encourage us not to run away.

 If you leave your body behind, you'll lose your ability to grieve masterfully. It is this heaviness that anchors you to the spacious compassion revealed in everyone's suffering. This compassion is the only worthy opponent to the suffering of grief. 

Your body is a brilliant mourner. The body  has a visceral understanding of death and loss. Our arms miss. Our hands miss. Our legs miss. Our face misses. It is visceral. Our bodies know what has been lost. Our hearts know what has been lost. Initially, part of your body and part of your heart is gone.

 If your grief is not quite finished, you'll know by the wrenching physical connection that still remains. 

The downward movement of grief can take all your energy. 

We live in a grief impaired culture. We turn away from the manifestations of deep sadness. We are not connected with our bodies. We do not want to feel anything deeply. Most people cannot get near enough to their bodies to experience grief. We are lost in our logical and linguistic mind. It is not the nature of the logical mind to dive down underneath life the way the body and emotions can. The intellect does not know how to dive deep. Your intellect only rationalizes and explains. The intellect will have us out of the water and dried off before we are actually submerged.

 Over time, one loss stacks up on top of the last one. We move further and further away from ourselves. 

Look to your heart. You will feel pain. But the pain will not crush you. Your heart will break open but not apart. Your heart will not be emptied; it will be expanded. You will have more capacity to love and more room to breath. 

Breath deeply and relax your body. Grief can then begin its journey through your body and into the ground, where it will nourish all souls. 

Nx

approval

 I write these things today to know them more deeply myself. I will share.

"Often, people who perform really well are some of the loneliest people in the world. The better your performance is, the less people actually meet you. They come and tell you, "what a wonderful performance! Thank you." But as a performer, you feel very lonely and you can get quite desperate for a relationship. So I thought......

Why would I want people to like me and approve of me anyway? Well, with enough approval, I might be convinced to like and approve of myself. If enough people like me, then maybe it will convince me  that I am likable.

So I am suggesting today that you will never get enough evidence of other people's approval to persuade you to love yourself. You'll never be able to succeed at liking yourself by getting others to approve your behaviors and decisions. At some point, you know you are doing it for others, and then you resent them for making you do all these things to get their approval----while all too often they seem to be withholding their approval!

How much are you going to be able to like yourself for abandoning yourself to that scheme?"

It never works, does it? Abandoning yourself to gain recognition. Has it been working lately? You go through life putting on your best performance, yet something doesn't work. People may still not be happy with you. You are not the way you are supposed to be.

If you got all that approval. What would it be good for? Who cares? How will you get out of the worrying about the audience approval?

You think, I could love myself if I got enough approval. And when will that be? Maybe you could just go ahead and love someone who doesn't quite measure up---the person you are---who doesn't quite measure up. Maybe you could go ahead and have a kind feeling, a tender hearted feeling for this poor miserable person who still does not measure up, still hasn't gone anywhere, still isn't calm, patient, tolerant, blissful, buoyant, cheerful and kind. 

Beyond your performance, who are you? Maybe you can find a tender, vulnerable, good hearted person---also boundless and vast----who is ready to see and be seen; someone who is smiling and welcoming the world into their hearts".

The Most Important Point by Ed Brown

The feeling of what happens.....

This passage from Peter Levine's book on trauma is very revealing. It was interesting to me as I have been reading and writing on the flow of emotions in our lives and how our body is the conduit that is bringing us the truth of "what is happening".

This passage was written by Antonio Damasio.

"We use our minds not to discover facts but to hide them. One of the things the screen hides most effectively is the body, our own body, by which I mean, the ins and outs of it, its interiors. Like a veil thrown over the skin to secure its modesty, the screen partially removes from the mind the inner states of the body, those that constitutes the flow of life as it wanders in the journey of each day.'

The emotions are the flow of life. The word "emotion" has its roots in the water. It means to flow outward. Emotions inform you about your capacity to flow and meander; to stop in unusual places; to experience startling and troubling things; and to fully engage with what you encounter. The central property of both water and emotions is movement and flow.

By thinking about the properties of water, we can more fully understand the processes of emotions. 

Water is soft and flowing, but it can wear down boulders and mountains. Emotions are strong and persistent. They gently ask for attention and persist until you acknowledge them. Water and emotions will move and flow around any obstacle put in its path. 

Water is a great conductor of heat and energy. It can support weight and create buoyancy. Water can carry things. You may get knocked down by some of your emotions, because the realm of water is extremely lively and, frequently turbulent place. But the water will hold you. It is buoyant, you will rise to the top. It can carry you for a while. 

Water embraces its environment. It always finds its way to the deepest, grounded places. Water fits comfortably in all the cracks. Emotions find all of our shadow places. It takes a light and an intimate investigation to find all the places it resides in our bodies. I love the images of the caves in the earth that flow unseen. I always believe that the water is very cold and clear there.  Water can travel upwards. From the bottom of the cave to the light of the sun. 

Add energy to water and it will change its form. Add energy to an arising emotion and it may change form too. As water changes to a vapor and disappears into the air, it can just as easily freeze into a block of ice. We add our own mental energy to emotions. They freeze. We add a story that we have written in our heads or a strong remembering of another event that was accompanied by these sensations. The movement is impeded by our minds.  It is no longer in the form of an emotion; it is now in the form of an emotional state.  It is better to just let emotions flow. No need to get into details. The mind just panics. Not helpful. Let it all flow through. Just notice them, welcome them and watch them leave. 

Water is the great container. It can hold you. 

Nx

emotions

 Humans are emotional beings. Emotions move through our bodies every minutes of every day. They carry massive amounts of information with them. These diverse messages can be distinguished with absolute certainty. Emotions are our native language. 

We receive these messages as sensations in our body. These sensations give us a remembering. The familiar emotions that remain at low intensity are just the stuff of our everyday life. Emotions communicate with all of our intelligences. What we see, we feel in our body. What we touch, we feel in our body. What we hear, we feel in our body. Without our emotions we are stripped of our intuition. We cannot make decisions or set proper boundaries. It is difficult to behave skillfully in relationships. 

It is possible to become disconnected with our emotions. We disconnect when we do not feel our body. The conduit for the messages is unplugged. Trauma is one event that can cause humans to dissociate from their bodies. Dissociation is the experience of leaving the body. This separation is triggered again and again by the conditions of our environments. So it happens that we practice and get quite good at leaving our bodies. We are not home to receive the message. 

Learning to work with your emotions will require you to focus on your body, even when unheard emotions become very loud indeed. If we do not pay attention, they will find a way to get our attention. 

Emotions are not a sign of imbalance. They provide protection and security from the ever changing realities of our lives. They increase people's ability to stay focused in their bodies. We are just embodied spirits. Our bodies are our native land. 

Unfortunately, we do not grow up as emotive people; we grow up as people who learn not to emote. Our reactivity to emotions reflect our cultures displeasure with emotions. The socially accepted view is that there are good ones and there are bad ones. The good  ones make us easy to be around. The bad ones make us difficult to be around and all the ensuing consequences of that. The good emotions are happiness, pleasantness, joy and some appropriate sadness. There is quite a list of bad emotional states. There is sadness that lasts too long, anger, depression, rage and fury, hatred, jealousy, fear, shame and guilt. How are you doing with maintaining the good emotions? 

One of the more unskillful ways we have used to not feel or listen to our bodily sensations and the messages they bring to us is to transform them. Transforming an emotion usually means repressing the life out the real but unwanted emotion. Then fabricating a better one. Completely missed the message. Nothing but confusion. 

Emotions only come in a boxed set. Each emotion has its own valid place in our lives. It is a beautiful continuum of colors. One supports the other. Interconnected. Working as a team. 

How lucky are we? It is a brilliant plan. What could possibly go wrong? 

Nx

sadness

Sadness moves forward to question our outdated or hollow attachments in a slow and persistent way. It asks you to respect the flow of time. Life is constant change. We are changed by our personal experiences. We are changed by time.

When you move into sadness, you move into the softened release of contracts that you have made with yourself and others. Sadness arrives when it is time to  uncouple yourself from your own worn out personal beliefs. These beliefs may not reflect the realities of your current life. 

You may then be able to move forward to release yourself from situations or people that are no longer healthy or wholesome to the new you. Sometimes these relationships are with people that we have been close to for a long time. This is a loss. These losses are sometimes necessary to create space for our new self. 

A change in our relationship with ourselves and the world usually requires a boundary shift. That is where sadness calls upon some anger. Anger is good at constructing new boundaries. Anger and sadness are intimately connected. As you respond to the request from sadness to release the old contracts and beliefs, anger will now step forward to help you restore your boundary and protect your new position. In doing so, anger helps you maintain the important change that is happening in your life. 

There is a natural emotional progression between sadness and anger. It may startle you. Anger will often move forward during times of sadness to help you maintain a connection to your strength and validate your intuition, while there is tremendous change happening inside you. 

Too much anger and you are unable to cry. You simply cannot release. Too much sadness and you cannot stop crying. You have no protective boundary. 

Anger and sadness dance together. You will need to learn to dance. 

It is all about balance. 

Watch the dance between anger and sadness. Listen and learn the dance of protecting yourself while you release and let go of that which does no longer serve. 

Nx

How I go to the woods.......

 Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend,

for they are all smilers and talkers and, therefore, unsuitable.

I don't really want to be witnessed talking to the carbirds or hugging

the old black tree. 

I have my way of praying, as you know doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible.

I can sit on the top of the dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,

until the foxes run by unconcerned.

I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone in the woods with me,

I must love you very much.

Mary Oliver

The grasshopper

Who made the world?
Who made the swan and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean --
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face,
now she snaps her wings open and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is,
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass,
how to knell in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed,
how to stroll through the fields- which I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done.
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver

The Broken World Awaits You

Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world.
All things will break.
And all things can be mended.
Not with time, as they say, but with intention.
So go.
Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally.
The broken world waits in the darkness
For the light that is you.

L.R. Knost

Great Mystery,
Teach me how to trust my heart,
my mind,
my intuition,
my inner knowing,
the senses of my body,
the blessings of my spirit.

Teach me to trust these things,
so that I may enter my sacred space
And love beyond fear,
And thus walk in balance with the passing of each glorious sun.

Wakan Tanka

dharma dog

She arrived on a Saturday. 


Surprising us all.


Her full and open heart

Like the return of an ancient tide.

The water sweeping through the house, 

Gushing into every corner and crevice,

Falling into the deepest parts.

Shifting the heaviest things

And dismissing anything unnecessary.





There may have been a calling.

A knowing.

A not knowing.

We could find no boundaries.

It was unimaginable that this love

Was meant for our undeserving hearts.

As the water encircled our feet,

The fear to be discovered as flawed,

And unforgivable was visceral.

This would be no half measure.




She was a sentinel. 

Her devotion to me was full and effortless.

Her faith in my kindness and care unwavering.

Everything I was and everything I was not.


She was a tunneller.

Diving into the darkness of my reluctant heart

With the skill of generations of diggers, searchers, finders.

I was her precious cargo.

She challenged me to see what was right there

My own pure unconditioned devotion.



Her departure was so sudden. 


The water drained from the house.

Our lives became unrecognizable.

In the end, she had surrendered everything.

Effortlessly.

No longer needing a painful body

And having no possessions,

All that was left

Was a very deep dive into her brown eyes

And a free fall into the boundless blue.



She came to us with a message.

Open your heart, it is safe.

We could love and were deserving of love.

our hearts were not so irreparably broken.

There was some capacity left over.

Our love was capable of healing her.

And her love was capable of healing us.

And so we did. 
And so she did.

how to paint a bird

It was, once again, my honour to attend this year's annual spring sesshin at Stowell Farm with the sangha of Salt Spring Zen Circle. It is my yearly habit to attend this sesshin, both for the kind company of the humans who practice there and the profound dharma of Peter Levitt.

At the first day dharma talk, Peter asked us to reflect on our "deepest inner request" and suggested that this request may have informed our desire to attend this seriously rigorous meditation retreat. There it is. The first question on the first day.

What is your "utmost deepest inner request"?

Peter asked us to question, "what do you really want"?

And then drop deeper.

And then ask, "what is your true intention"?

And then drop deeper.

Now......"what is your utmost deepest inner request"?

What is it?

Peter gave us this beautiful poem by French poet Jacques Prevert. This poem had some useful clues for our elusive search.

How to paint a bird

Paint first a cage
with the door open
next paint
something pretty
something simple
something lovely
something of use
to the bird
then put the canvas near a tree
in a garden
in a woods
or in a forest
hide behind the tree
say nothing
don't move
sometimes the bird will come quickly
but it can just as well take many years
before deciding
don't be disheartened
wait
wait years if need be
the pace of the bird's arrival
bearing no relation
to the success of the painting
When the bird comes
if it comes
keep very still
wait for the bird to enter the cage
and once it has
gently shut the door with the brush
then
paint out the bars one by one
taking care not to touch any of the bird's feathers
next paint the tree's portrait
choosing the loveliest of its branches
for the bird
paint likewise the green leaves and the fresh breeze
the sun's scintillation
and the clamour of crickets in the heat of summer
and then wait until the bird decides to sing
if the bird does not sing
that's a bad sign
but if it sings that's a good sign
a sign you can sign.

by Jacques Prevert

The sangha sat with "what is this?' for the next few days. At the end of this time, all I knew was that I had painted many birds that did not sing. In fact, I was seriously wondering if any of my bird portraits had every sung.

I continued the hunt after I arrived home. Having some awareness of our deepest inner request would enrich our relationship with ourselves. It was a worthy study. The path that lead to this "request" was going to be elusive. I noticed that every time I seemed to get close to the path, I would be left with an empty hand. An empty hand in an empty field. Maybe, I was, at least, in the right place.

My mental skills would be of no use in this search. The answer would not lie in the mental world. I could not even pretend that I had any direct control over whether the bird would arrive or not. All doing or trying was fruitless in this endeavour. There would only be the open door of the cage and the "allowing" that this would provide. I was waiting on the bird.

I was aware that on the path to realizing this "request", one would have to practice a new way. Unfortunately, a less practiced way. It would require patience and discipline. I would have to engage "action" that was actually no action at all.

Us and the request are really just one thing. It is here that the intimacy lies. To have the experience of the bird singing would require full engagement with the bird. Any separation between myself and the bird would only create another bad painting.

I needed to listen to Jacques Prevert's directions carefully.

First, I would paint the cage with the open door. The bars, which create obstacles between the real world and myself, were created by me for safety. I would paint them with compassion for myself. The cage needed to be kind, modest and useful to the bird. And I would paint the open door. We are "allowed" to leave the cage. Allowing would be a necessary ingredient in the singing of the bird.

Trying or knowing would not be useful.

Then, I must create the right conditions for the bird. To have a chance for the bird to arrive, we need to go to the places where birds live.

Now, I had to get out of the way. If the conditions are wholesome and helpful, the bird will arrive. I need to know nothing, do nothing and make no sound. Now we just wait. This is the action of no action. And full surrender to waiting suspends time. It is the patience to fully understand that we have everything we need right now.

If, by chance, the conditions are just right. The bird may arrive. Bow deeply with gratitude for the arrival. The bars can now be removed, as these illusions of safety are no longer necessary and, just extra. Still, do not interfere with even one feather of the bird. Have faith that it has come whole and does not require any containment. Open your hand.

Wait for the bird "to decide" to sing. Again, get out of the way. Any expectation at this point and the bird will not sing.

But if all is surrendered and full faith is applied, you and the bird will be one thing. You and your "deepest inner request" will just be you. Just be the bird. All in one. No separations. Full intimacy with yourself.

Thank you, Peter, for the extra instruction.

Deep bows to the practice of this new way.

Norma

Love after Love.....

The time will come,
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the others welcome.

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you.

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Derek Walcott

these comfortable lies .......

The Lie is a solid and enduring form. It is much more harmful to humans than we give credit.

It divides us.

It separates us from ourselves and contaminates our relationship with the world.

By deceiving ourselves and hoping to deceive others about ourselves, we can no longer be whole hearted in our relationships. We have given up respect for others and their capacity to hear and process truths. 

People are easier to control with lies. Otherwise, you are just left with a human and a true human response. Are these responses dangerous?

When we lie, we are giving up the belief that we can be fully loved for who we are. We run from the truth of our life. We run away from the truth of the lives of others too. There can be no intimacy.

A lie begins as a thought; one of those very seductive thoughts.

A thought that arrives with promises of relief  and safety in times of fear and confusion.

A thought that holds an immediate solution to a short term discomfort. The discomfort of telling the truth.

The thought needs to be shared to transform into a solid form.

As a thought it was harmless. It was air.

To tell a good lie you need to believe at least a spoonful of it. For the lie needs to be believable to serve it's purpose of keeping you hidden and separate. A good lie can accomplish this sense of safety.

But to tell an exceptional lie, one needs to fully believe it.

Some of our lies we hold close. We have so fully believed these creations that they become part of our identity and , of course, become the roots of new lies. The story grows, keeping you separate, but with the hope of being loved.

You have chosen comfort over truth.  This is a very human thing to do.

Do these really comfortable lies now become the beliefs that shape our lives? Are all our beliefs about life and how to engage it, simply comfortable lies created to ward off fear and confusion? Are these comfortable lies, the beliefs that have been passed down from ancestor to ancestor both intentionally and unintentionally, with the loving intent to keep the children safe?

When we look deeply into our beliefs about our self and relationships, we may start to uncover these strategies that were nothing but an attempt to keep ourselves comfortable and safe.

These stories hold no compassion for ourselves and the difficult decisions that we need to make everyday. They reinforce the belief that we "should" know and are not allowed to make mistakes.  No ones life is perfect. Life manifests from the unique causes and conditions that are present in that moment of time. These conditions are not in our control. Mostly, they arrive uninvited. 

 When you stay open with the direct experience of life, accepting the swing from discomfort to dissatisfaction and understand that you are no different than others, you must be careful; you may start telling the truth about your life. You may find the forgiveness you need to love yourself fully.

 Soon you will not be able to lie. Lying is not something that you have to “quit”.....it disappears when you start telling yourself the truth.

gassho
Norma

May my heart be open to little birds....

may my heart be always open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old.

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may I be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young.

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with a smile.

E.E. Cummings

enough for the birds

Even in a frozen heart,
There will be a few drops of love at the bottom,
Enough to feed the birds.

Nx

Empty.....

So, when the shoe fits
The foot is forgotten.
When the belt fits
The belly is forgotten.
When the heart is right
"For" and "against" are forgotten.

Thomas Merton

Aimless Love

This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,

I fell in love with a wren

and later in the day with a mouse

the cat had dropped under the dining room table.

In the shadows of an autumn evening,

I fell for a seamstress

still at her machine in the tailor's window,

and later for a bowl of broth,

steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.

This is the best kind of love, I thought,

without recompense, without gifts 

or unkind words, without suspicion

or silence on the telephone. 

The love of the chestnut,

the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel

No lust, no slam of the door.

The love of the miniature orange tree,

the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,

the highway that cuts across Florida.

No waiting, no huffiness or rancor-

just a twinge every now and then

for the wren who had built her nest

on a low branch overhanging the water

and for the dead mouse,

still dressed in its light brown suit.

But my heart is always propped up 

in a field on its tripod,

ready for the next arrow.

After I carried the mouse by the tail

to a pile of leaves in the woods,

I found myself standing at the bathroom sink,

gazing down affectionately at the soap,

so patient and soluble

so at home in its pale green dish.

I could feel myself falling again

as I felt its turning in my wet hands

and caught the scent of lavender and stone.

Bill Collins

Breathing Under Water

I built my house by the sea.
Not on the sands, mind you;
not on the shifting sand.
And I built it of rock.
A strong house
by a strong sea.
And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.
Good neighbours.
Not that we spoke much.
We met in silences.
Respectful, keeping our distance,
but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.
Always, the fence of sand our barrier,
always, the sand between.

And then one day,
----and I still don't know how it happened----
the sea came.
Without warning.
Without welcome, even
Not sudden or swift, but a shifting across the sand
like wine,
less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.
Slow, but coming.
Slow, but flowing like an open wound.
And I thought of flight, and I thought of drowning
and I thought of death.
And while I thought, the sea crept higher, till it
reached my door.
And I knew then, there was neither flight, not death,
nor drowning.
That when the sea comes calling you stop being
neighbours,
Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors
And you give your house for a coral castle,
And you learn to breath underwater.

Carol Bieleck

Loss...by Rashini Rea

There is a brokenness
out of which comes the unbroken,
a shatteredness
out of which blooms the unshatterable.
There is a sorrow
beyond all grief which leads to joy
and a fragility
out of whose depths emerges strength.
There is a hollow space too vast for words
through which we pass with each loss,
out of whose darkness we are sanctioned into being.
There is a cry deeper than all sound
whose serrated edges cut the heart
as we break open
to the place inside which is unbreakable
and whole
while learning to sing.

She let go.....

She let go.

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear.

She let go of the judgments.

She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her.

She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.

Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice.

She didn’t read a book on how to let go.

She didn’t search the scriptures.

She just let go.

She let go of all of the memories that held her back.

She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.

She didn’t journal about it.

She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.

She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.

She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.

She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.

She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.

She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.

She didn’t call the prayer line.

She didn’t utter one word.

She just let go.

No one was around when it happened.

There was no applause or congratulations.

No one thanked her or praised her.

No one noticed a thing.

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort.

There was no struggle.

It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.

It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be.

A small smile came over her face.

A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…

~ Rev. Safire Rose

The Journey

One day you finally knew
What you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice,
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terribe.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
but little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do....
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver

Achaan Naeb

In Jack Kornfield’s new book “Living Dharma”, he offers us a compilation of the philosophy and practices of Theravadin Buddhism. Ram Dass, who is one of my favourite writers and spiritual teachers, writes the forward for this book.

He suggests that “in the course of allowing these words to pour through you, perhaps a practice here,  turn of phase there, a jungle scene or a bit of clearly enunciated wisdom will attract you, will attach to you, will be something to which you will cling. Calm insight will show you why that particular thought came into your focus. And when you have absorbed what you need, then that bit of stuff will be dislodged to float on down the stream of your passing thoughts, leaving you, more than ever, here now”.


I am always drawn to female dharma teachers. They seem rare in Zen.

 So when I arrived at the chapter in the book that described the dharma teachings of Achaan Naeb, a woman in her late seventies who has established centers for study and meditation in Thailand,  I already felt honored. I was listening. 

Jack Kornfield writes that a visit to Achaan Naeb is a chance to hear clear and direct Dharma.

“She may first instruct the visitor to sit comfortably and then ask them not to move. Shortly, of course, one automatically begins to change position. 

“Wait, hold it. Why are you moving? Don’t move yet!” 

The teaching of Achaan Naeb point directly to the most obvious source of suffering, our own bodies. 

If we simply stay still and try not to move, eventually there will be discomfort. This discomfort increases until we change posture.  Almost all of our actions throughout the day follow the same pattern. After waking, we arise and go to the bathroom to ease the bladder pain. Then we eat to ease the discomfort of hunger. Then we sit down to ease the pain of standing. Then we read or talk or watch tv  (or write a blog) to distract us from the pain of our turbulent mind. Then we move again to ease another discomfort. Each movement, each action is not to bring happiness but to ease the inevitable suffering that comes from being born with a body.”

I  spent a few days making an effort to be mindful of all of these movements away from discomfort.

 I was astonished at the level  of my habitual conditioning to physical movement. 

I decided to distract myself by going to the library. My task to keep my posture while greeting suffering had proven completely unsuccessful. I was waiting in line to check out my armful of books, when I noticed a darling little girl about four years old. She had a violet colored ballet dress which had been hastily thrown over her blue jeans and pink shirt. Her mother was involved in a discussion with the librarian, and had left the little dancer to her own devises. It was clear to me that she was impatient. Her body was starting to feel discomfort.  She flapped her arms against her body; she jumped and stretched; she leaned against her mother and pulled at her mother's arms; when all of that movement failed to relieve the tension in her body, she ran as fast as her little pink rubber boots would allow to the very end of the  library and back. Back and forth she ran, just trying to relieve the sensations in her little body.

Wow! She was so innocent. She so innocently practiced moving away from the discomfort in her body. It was so natural for her to do this, so instinctive… so human. I have much gratitude to this little girl who was my teacher this day. I could hear my mother complain to friends about my constantly spinning and bouncing body. “Be still”, she would say. I surely had been practicing a long time.

So the simple dharma of Achaan Naeb, is not so simple.

Nx

sharing a breath.....

I was stopped on the path
By a robin's spacious voice.
The sweet space flung out so freely.
 Sung with a full deep breath of confidence.

So sure,
So sure that the sky
Would embrace the sound
and the generous wind
Would transport and support it.

 Empty of doubt.

The breath of the bird was as close as
My own breath.
As I listened more deeply,
I heard more clearly. 

And the song was already
In my heart.
And I was singing the song.
Flinging it out fearlessly
And the wind joined my voice.
And we all shared a breath.

 Nx










 Nx

Even strain......

Last year I was having coffee with a spiritual friend.  He had recently experienced the loss of a dear friend. I asked how he was managing the personal impact of this loss, he replied, "Even strain".  It  took me a moment to process this description of his emotional response to a loss. I had never heard this expression used to describe grief. But my body instantly understood. It is sometimes startling to feel your body understand before your mind. And then my heart understood. My mind was still not involved except to wonder what the word "strain" really meant.  I was interested in finding the definition for this word that had resonated in my body and heart with such a startle.

When I got home, I looked up the word "strain".

As the word had been used as a noun, this is where I started the research of this word. ........"a severe or excessive demand on strength, resources or abilities". One thinks of a force.....pulling, stretching......making something very taut. But he had said, "Even strain". The addition of the word "even" describes a different energy.....one that is much more balanced and level; like the lean of a man in a tug of war who is simply leaning back and holding his own. Still a serious use of all the abilities and resources available to the man, but a much more skillful use of one's strength and energy. In this stance there is no resistance to the pull, no extra vigilance; just an upright stance balanced steady on the earth.

The "even strain" requires a faith and trust in the universe; an understanding that we are not in charge of holding it all.  It expresses a place where standing upright and finding our feet is enough. Just feeling the tug and holding steady. If we do more than stand level and balanced; if we feel that we have no assistance from the universe, if we feel that we need to fight the energy of the pull......we then become the verb rather than the noun. The verb demands "a force to make unusually great effort". Clearly this implies resistance and extra vigilance to keep the rope taut.

My friend was sitting still with his grief. He was not resisting; he was not holding tight; he was just letting it be so. Just exactly what it was ... a loss....he was not adding any more weight to this story.He had achieved an  exceptionally balanced approach to grief.

Recently, a friend of mine sent me a very moving poem. This poem was written by an American novelist named Marge Piercy. She also used the word "strain" in her vivid expression except she was using the verb....."straining". It is a poem about living your life as a woman.....a "strong" woman and the habits that are conditioned into young girls that manifest into this performance of "strength".

A strong woman by Marge Piercy

A strong woman is a woman who is straining.
A strong woman is a woman standing
on tip toes and lifting a barbell
while trying to sing Boris Godunov.
A strong woman is a woman at work
cleaning out the cesspool of the ages,
and while she shovels, she talks about
how she doesn't mind crying, it opens
the tear ducts of her eyes, and throwing up
develops the stomach muscles, and
she goes on shoveling with tears in her nose.

A strong woman is a woman in whose head
a voice is repeating, I told you so,
ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,
ballbuster, nobody will ever love you back,
why aren't you feminine, why aren't
you soft, why aren't you quiet, why
aren't you dead?

A strong woman is a woman determined
to do something others are determined
not to be done. She is pushing up on the bottom
of a lead coffin lid. She is trying to raise
a manhole cover with her head, she is trying
to butt her way through a steel wall.
Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole
to be made say, hurry, you're so strong.

As strong woman is a woman bleeding
inside. As strong woman is a woman making
herself strong every morning while her teeth
loosen and her back throbs. Every baby,
a tooth, midwives used to to say, and now
every battle, a scar. A strong woman
is a mass of scar tissue that aches
when it rains and wounds that bleed
when you bump them and memories that get up
in the night and pace in boots to and fro.

A strong woman is a woman who craves love
like oxygen or she turns blue choking.
A strong woman is a woman who loves
strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly
terrified and has strong needs. As strong woman is strong
in words, in action, in connection, in feeling;
she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf
suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she
enacts it as the wind fills a sail.

What comforts her is others loving
her equally for the strength and for the weakness
from which it issues, lightning from a cloud.
Lightning stuns. In rain, the clouds disperse.
Only water of connection remains,
flowing through us. Strong is what we make together,
a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.

There is not a doubt in my mind that I have spent many, many years of my life being a "strong" woman. As I read this poem, my body felt the shoveling, the weight of the manhole, the deep sigh of resignation as the baby would not sleep and my legs could barely move. The enacting of the fearless strength..straining, always straining to meet the demands of the people I loved and who I dearly wanted to love me.....my gentle heart asking my lungs to blow harder into the sail. The many nights of pacing to and fro haunted by fear and worry. And the voices both outside and inside.....saying that I couldn't do it, that it was too hard for me, that I was failing others, that I would never be loved.....and then there in the background a voice that was telling me to "hurry up"....that I do not stand a chance of love if I cannot meet the demand in time.  Straining to be strong. Hoping that the others see more than just the strength.....but never truly believing that the weakness will be honored.

A few years ago, I stopped pushing on the "lead coffin lid". I dropped the bar bells. I stopped blowing in the sails. I just laid down in the water with my open tear ducts and strong stomach muscles and surrendered. I became the water. It was no longer weeping. It was just water. I gave up on the love that required me to "hurry".

I have a new practice. I live now with a more or less "even strain" on the rope.   I live with the tug to "try harder" to love and be loved. I do not act on it. When I find myself in the "habit" of shoveling. I put down the shovel and the voices say....."that is enough, dear, you have done enough. You will be loved because you are so lovable. There is nothing that you have to do to be loved."

I don't always remember to stand balanced and level holding with just "even strain" on the rope. But I usually find my way home and sit for awhile.

Norma

I'm old........

This very articulate, vicseral description of the impact of the culumutive losses in the life of a human being was extracted from a face book page and sent to me by a friend.

 I found it so moving and authentic....I will share with you here on my blog. 

“Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter.” I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. 

Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

my deep thanks to Theresa for sharing this dharma......Nx

the faith to do nothing

This Christmas evening, I am looking for the full moon in every drop of water hanging from the branches of the ancient cedars in the forest in the back of the cabin. I am reminded how effortlessly this spectacle of light and cold water manifest.... quietly waiting for my attention. The image so miraculous and elusive that I am only able to look for a moment. I find myself having to return over and over again.......in the same way that I return to my breath to meet the present moments of my life.

It would seem that I am only able to stay present for this miracle of the moment with a constant effort of faith and attention.

Zen speaks of effort being no effort. 

If we could just "settle the self on the self and let the flower of our life force bloom". This quote is from a dharma talk given by Katagiri Sensei in the 60's, although I am sure that it was the theme of many of his teachings. In Zen, there is nothing to gain.We already have everything we need.

This is the faith that meditation cultivates in our life. This is the Zen way.

I am encouraged by the writings of a very experienced Zen teacher, Blanche Hartman in her new book....Seeds for a Boundless Life.

"How do we let the flower of this life force bloom if there is nothing to gain from Zen practice? If this is it, our life as it is, and there is nothing to get and we are complete as we are, where does effort come from if there is no goal? What's the purpose of effort, if there is no goal?

Her sweet and complete answer....... "It comes from the one who requires it."

"It is sort of like..... What is the effort that daffodils make in order to bloom? There they are, bulbs under the ground in the dark. They are doing something, something is happening there under the ground in the dark that results in the bloom that we see when we walk down the path.

 What kind of effort is it that we make to allow blooming to be completely itself and with which we meet the world and appreciate this opportunity to be who we are?

The work of the daffodil preparing to bloom is very quiet. It doesn't look outward to see if it's doing it right. It finds this bloom within itself somehow. It comes from the very nature of the bulb, this bloom that we see as beautiful. It's beautiful from the beginning, it's completely there. It just needs conditions around it to help it bloom. But really its all there, its all completely present right in front of you from the beginning.

This is our faith. In faith we can bloom fully in the most appropriate way. We practice this practice."

The daffodil image is one I needed on this dark winter day. I know that soon there will be daffodils to contemplate.........not that I am living in the future .....only this obsessive visiting...............using my effort to constantly return from my mental journeys ...... just this is enough. Right?

I seem to be the one who requires it.

love to you all this Christmas evening
Nx