Meeting yourself.....mindfulness of breath

The patterns of the arising of prana or breath reflects exactly the patterns that arise in the mind.

So when you have a particular story line in your mind....there is a sensation pattern in the breathing that has an exact correspondence to it.

So the basic practice of going back to feeling breath or prana allows you to experience sensations and feelings without the overlay of the story that our brains have stuck on to it long ago.

This allows us to feel free of the theories of self that have been superimposed or stuck on to everything.

 Each of us becomes a school unto ourselves.


Richard Freeman in a dharma talk at Upaya Zen Center.

Never seek love.
Love never hides.

It resides patiently in her heart.
Waiting for her attention.

Nx

Give your thoughts room...

"Your thoughts are just thoughts.
 They are not your life.
They are  your thoughts.

Make a room as big as the sky in your mind.

Your thoughts can be clouds that float through.

Some of your thoughts are clear.

Some of your thoughts are muddy.

An open mind isn't attached to thinking or belief.

Thoughts can be jail.

Watching them coming and going
lets you out to play in the universe.

Please enjoy your thoughts
coming and going.

You will learn this sitting quietly."

 from Buddha in Blue Jeans

The spring rain has turned the bluebells to glass. They tinkle in the morning breeze.
So grateful..... a world of surprise in each drop.

Nx

accept your feelings.....

This is only my first of many posts from Tai Sheridan's book, Buddha in Blue Jeans; An extremely short Zen guide to sitting quietly and being Buddha. Enjoy these wonderful openings. 

Your feelings are your heart
 and gut response to the world.

Everything you feel is okay.

Feelings can be difficult.

Sometimes you can trust them
as honest responses to people and events,
sometimes you can't trust them,
They are reactions to people and events.

Keep sorting this out.

Your feelings will tell you
what you really need.
Learn to be gracious with
your unmet needs.

Kindly ask for what you want.
Respect everyone's right to say
yes or no to your needs.

Give up self centeredness as much
as possible.

Please enjoy your feelings!

You will learn this sitting quietly.

Nx

window box dancers....

Buddha caught in a spring shower..

If you are coming..........

If you are coming to find me
I may be in the dark, damp places,
The earthy spots,
Where clear shinning diamonds of water lay softly
On the cupped forms of arbutus leaves
That crackle under my feet.

It is here that the birds find pure water.

If you are coming to find me,
I may be perched like a seagull
On the top of stones
Surrounded by the pull and push of tides
Wondering the patterns of light
Running across the sandy bottoms.

It is here the birds scream out to sea.

If you are coming to find me,
I may be huddled around a raging fire
Under the open starry sky
Comforted by the dark shadows of
Surrounding trees throwing their heads back
To feel the moon.

It is here that the birds open to the silence of the night.

If you are coming to find me,
I may be in a sheltered place
In green and blue moss,
So moist and cool and soft
That it calls you to lay down your tired body
In its arms so you can rest and breath alittle.

It is here that the birds will sing you to sleep. 

Nx

Arrival..

The early morning sun shines on the
diamond dew of the spring grass,
coaxing me down to the pond.
I sink my body down on the soft, wet earth.
I wait with a full, warm heart.

The red winged blackbirds  dance
up and down on the dead dried stocks
of yesterdays reeds.
They scream with excitement
at new life rising from the dark brown water.


The swallows swing low and
scrap the water,
snatching some nourishment from
the skin of the pond.

The old boat sits half beached on the shore.
I can hear the squeals of the summer children,
and the gentle plop of the oars,
that starts their adventure.

 As I sit,
breathing in the new green life,
My face warmed by the sun,
My ears full of the grateful sounds.
I prepare a gift for you.


I pick the first soft shoots of reeds
rising from the muddy bottom
of this every spring pond.
The sweet, precious green
rising from the deep muddy pond.

I weave a basket for you.

I will take the smoke from the fire
and the ashes of the past,
And place them carefully in the basket.
I will set the basket afloat on the the pond.

I will wait for your arrival. 

Nx

the gaps...

There it is.
In the space between the notes.

There.
In between the last whisper of the out breath
and the first feelings of inspiration in the next.

There.
In the spaces between
the thoughts and the convince.

There.
In the space after the last word spoken,
and before the first word heard.

There.
In the space between the foot lifting
and the foot sealing itself to the earth.

There.
In the space between the thought and the action.

There it is.

Nx

such a lovely love poem.....

How shall I hold my soul
to not intrude upon yours?
How shall I lift it beyond
you to other things?
I would gladly lodge it with
the lost objects in the dark
in some far still place that
does not tremble when you tremble.

But all that touches me,
 you and me,
plays us together, like the bow
of a violin that from two
strings draws forth one voice.
On what instrument are we strung?
What musician is playing?
Oh Sweet song.

Rainier Maria Rilke

the eagle calls.....

The eagle calls.
My breathe stops .....I feed on the sound.
There again. 
A quick inhale.
A small burst of air escapes from top of my heart.


My throat opens.
An opening that hears no difference,
Between the eagles wild call out to sea and mine.

A saddened plea to never leave.

The eagle glides effortlessly over the beach.

Searching.          Nx

rooted like trees...

If we could surrender
to the earth's intelligence,
We could rise up
rooted like trees.

Ranier Maria Rilke

alittle more orange.....

The colored earth calls
 to the falling autumn leaves,
hoping for just a little more orange.

Nx

At the pond......

The leaves break the silence with their chatter.

A bird enjoys an enthusiastic bath
behind a green, feathery cedar curtain.

The spiders create small circles of light
as they dart effortlessly over the water's surface.


I am unnoticed. 

Nx

the rock called to the light.....

The rock called to the light.

The light wound effortlessly
Through the branches, and falling leaves,
Through the crooks in trees,
And warmed the rock
with clear yellow light.
 
The moss stretched out
To meet the sun.

What an astonishment

As the visiting light
Ignites the diamonds
Laying softly in it's arms. 

 

Nx

you do not have to be good.....

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Mary Oliver

cooking....

Cooking is not a mystery.
The more heart we put out
the more heart we put in.
To bring cooking alive
we give our life. Giving
our life willingly we don't
get put out.

Washing cutting cooking cleaning,
finding ways to give life to our life.
Not knowing already how and what to do,
practice feeling it
out of what is not known
through the warmth and the anxiety,
not sticking to a particular way,
insisting it is the only way,
open to feeling out what is possible,
what gives life to our life.

To feel out our left hand, our back our toes,
to feel out our breathing, our movements, our stance,
to savor the taste of a radish or a fresh fig,
this is our freedom, this is our wisdom --
Spirit moves.
The mystery is that it is possible to do
what we don't know how to do.

From the Tassajara Cookbook

the violet.....

The small violet flower
hidden under the frosted leaf
ready to unleash spring.

Nx

Resilience........

I was walking with a dear friend today.

 She and I take these walks and, at the same time, we journey into the narratives of our lives. Inevitably and, always surprisingly, these narratives reveal intimate details about our relationships with the world.  We study ourselves by listening and speaking our most honest and heartfelt stories.

 Today, our narratives were about resilience and how intimately resilience is connected with unconditional confidence.The confidence in our ability to return to the original form after being bent, compressed, and stretched.

 

The confidence to take uncertain journeys deeper into the places of our hearts and minds. The places that sit unattended and unloved; well fortified with walls of avoidance. The places that we have chosen not to know about ourselves.

During our walk along the ocean this morning, we decided that how one is even able to court the idea of visiting these challenging places is the unconditional confidence in the ability to find the way back to the center. To have some assurance in your heart that you have the skills of focus and patience. The knowing that it may engage all of you and you will need your breath to stay and stand firmly, but you will survive this meeting with yourself.

 This confidence in the return....so that you can explore the gap between yourself and yourself.....and see if the gap is not extra...........this journey can not be accomplished without the resilience of confidence. ..the ability to find your way back to zero.

 What a precious slice of grace to find a human in your life who is able to be present......allowing a short visit to the place where your ability to be intimate ends.  A presence that challenges you to stand right in the spot where you can actually feel the little bit of you that you hold on to .....the place where you are now not sure if you are safe. A wonderful journey and encounter with the places where you keep yourself separate. 

Deep gratitude from me to you, my friend.

I am the child....

I am the child,
the birth,
the new way,
the inbreath,
the energy of life,
the surprise we all know about.

I am the joy spirit,
running and jumping,
trying to reach it,
singing outside your kitchen window.

I am the dancing child,
Watch me move in the air,
to fly and land
to fly and land.

Nx

A thin thread of breath....

The sadness in her eyes
as she polished her womanly shrine,
Her spirit resigned,
Her dreams modified,
This is how she would love God.

Nx

the spider......

Always in search of a new home
In the air outside my window.

Holding softly to the thin lines
of sun spotted dew
Throwing her bulbous body into space.


Intricately designed limbs
Perfectly folded beneath her.

She secures another refuge
in the evening's autumn air
outside my window. 

Nx

What kind of flower are you?

 During my last trip to San Francisco, I was fortunate enough to be able to attend a meditation session and dharma talk at the Zen Center. What a gift to be able to meditate in a space so rooted in the ancestry of Western Buddhism. After the meditation, there was a dharma talk in a room full of   seasoned monks and nuns, eager students and visitors.

 

A roshi in her late 60's came into the room, sat and began to speak.

 She began by saying that she was about to resign her position as the head roshi of the zen center, and that the decision to step down had been challenging for her. The thread of her dharma talk focused on her journey to the middle way of this decision......the choice that would cause the lest harm and be the kindest for everyone.

She told us her story.

The previous year, she had been walking on a busy San Francisco street when she noticed the bus that she needed to catch on the other side of the street. When she saw the bus, she was filled with a sense of childlike joyfulness and inhibition. Filled with the energy of this enthusiasm, she impulsively  made a dash across the street to the bus. The next thing she remembered was being taken to the hospital by ambulance.

She giggled as she told the story ...amused at her own heedless behavior.

She had fallen and incurred a head injury. After the incident, she began to have headaches and other symptoms that were interfering with the performance of her job as the roshi of the center.  She had tried to carry on her duties for a year before she realized that, since the accident, she was "a different kind of a flower". She would have to find the right conditions for "this kind of flower".

And this beautiful thought was a great insight to me.....a metaphor that could point the way to the middle of the river.

She explained that for a fern to live fully and completely living out its fern-ness; it would require the conditions of a rain forest.....lots of water and intermittent light.  A fern's roots are shallow and they need water that lies on the surface of the earth. It enjoys small droplet of water on it's skin and just enough sun to call out its fronds gently to the light.

Now if the kind of flower that you are is a cactus ..... you would not thrive in the rain forest........this rain forest does not have the conditions that a cactus needs. A cactus needs the long days of hot sun and intense light, the infrequent water, the cold nights........a fern would do really poorly given these conditions. It would be such a struggle for the fern to be a fern, in the conditions that created the most splendid cactus.

Now the fern is perfectly a fern. When a fern has the conditions that meet it's needs, it is always whole, beautiful and a pleasure to behold....have you ever seen a fern, being anything other than a fern  that was not stunning. No extra effort to be a fern.....just the right conditions.

And the cactus is perfectly a cactus. No extra effort to be a cactus if the conditions are right. When the conditions are scrupulously met......the cactus becomes fully cactus-ness. It takes no extra effort to manifest a flower so brilliant to the cold black starry night and so magnificently scented that every grain of sand in the desert breathes in deeply, grateful for the moment.


Norma

Who understands me but me......

...I cannot fly or make something appear in my hand,
I cannot make the heavens open or the earth tremble,
I can live with myself, and I am amazed at myself, my love,
my beauty,
I am taken by my failures, astounded by my fears,
I am stubborn and childish,
in the midst of this wreckage of life they incurred,
I practice being myself,
and I have found parts of myself never dreamed of by me,
they were goaded out from under rocks in my heart
when the walls were built higher,
when the water was turned off and the windows painted black.
I followed these signs
like an old tracker and followed the tracks deep into myself,
followed the blood-spotted path,
deeper into dangerous regions, and found so many parts of myself,
who taught me water is not everything,
and gave me new eyes to see through walls,
and when they spoke, sunlight came out of their mouths,
and I was laughing at me with them,
we laughed like children and made pacts to always be loyal,
who understands me when I say this is beautiful?

-Jimmy Santiago Baca, "Who Understands Me but Me"

The nest

The threads of grass, so round and dry, intricately woven,
With small beady eyes and sharp black beak
the blue green lichen is so mindfully placed.
The soft deep center gathered with special care,
Such a safe, delicate place to set oneself.
And all of this love held so high,
Safely cradled in the crook of the limbs
Or delicately balanced on a branch
Covered by design or surprise by the big broad leaf,
To keep the treasure dry and shielded from prey
That would pluck and feed.
This sacred place so instinctual in its creation.

Guided by a small heart beat and a tiny breath
And supported by the assurance of the preciousness of life.

 And here I am.

The creator, the nest, the limb that holds the nest,
The broad leaf that protects the softest deepest place.
I hold my hands out and bring that softest part to my heart.

Nx



.

The seaside....

So kind to me as it caressed my feet, my ankles,
a small line of solid surface moving up my body,
the under of it filling every crevice
until my mouth is full and my eyes disappear in its cool kindness.
So grateful for its loving touch
On this warm summer day.

Nx

like the bird....

The wing is my extention,
my search for balance.
The wind is my ground.
The bird's hollow boned flesh
echoing in the wind.
Earth.
I am your projection,
Fill up the space with the other.

Nx

You came to visit me last night in a dream...

You came to visit me last night.
What a surprise.
A clear, crisp, textured visit.
You showed me your new tattoo
and said, "it does not read the way I was hoping."
We smiled together at the imperfection of our lives.

I had forgotten how pale your skin
and how red your hair.
Always so thick and wild.

When you touched my skin,
It was full of no goodbyes
And when I touched your skin
I felt all of your body
so solid and sure and strong
cradled in my open heart,
laying safely in my arms.

I brought out the basket that I had made for you
from the first spring shoots of the reeds in the pond.
I filled the container with all the gifts that
I have received from you.
I wanted to return them to you.

So we could be human together.

Nx

Desire change

 This is a raw poem that calls from real and authentic places...........places that may be alittle frightening if heard with an open mind/heart......the whole way.....it is a bit scary when you are peeking at the truth of it.............read it out loud!! Read it to the whole audience!! 


Desire change,
Be enthusiastic for that flame
in which a thing escapes your grasp,
while it makes a glorious display of changes.

Be enthusiastic for that flame
in which a thing escapes your grasp,
while it makes a glorious display of transformation.

That designing spirit, the master mind of all things of earth,
loves nothing as much in the sweeping movement
of the dance as the turning point.

Rainer Maria Rilke